Granite

For eight years
    This town remained
    My fortress
    These years
    Like death
    Have passed on
    Inevitably
    Unlike life
    They refrain from movement
    
    The faces of
    This town are etched
    From granite
    Shaped like
    Keyholes locked
    From the inside
    Rusted
    In decay
    They remain impenetrable
    
    If I shared
    Your dialect
    Would you
    Open up or
    As I suspect
    Is the key
    Lost forever
    Beneath the rubble
    Of crumbled ideals
    
    This town
    Remains my fortress
    Though one day
    I will leave
    Only to discover
    Despite
    My intentions
    I never
    Even existed.

Fat Bastard

He sings in the shower
    Where others cannot hear
    Or see the plethora of unmasked
    Flesh
    
    They laugh as though his brain
    Sits cushioned in silence
    Without the sense to interpret
    Abuse
    
    He shouts to the masses
    Fat bastard I may be
    But shallow infusions offer no
    Cure
    
    They tunnel their feelings
    Towards his obesity
    As if hiding the emptiness of their own
    Existence
    
    He contemplates suicide
    Without wanting to die
    Only to be removed from this body of
    Guilt
    
    They with their sleek legs
    And tight arses laugh
    As if he cannot enjoy the right to be
    Hungry
    
    He realises subtly
    There is a fat bastard
    In all of us, even without the
    Recognition
    
    They, inactively bored
    From the mindless crow
    Move on to seek pleasure from other
    Victims
    
    While, the fat bastard
    Crawls to his feet
    Brushes himself and prepares for the
    Feast

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