Too Much Of the Wrong Thing
by Teresita Blanco
I have slowly become
This amorphous demon,
My old form has been forsaken.
Your lack of compassion
Has god’s sake shutdown,
This dreadful poison
Has made our morals corrupted.
Our destructive egos
Has corrodes our home,
This malady makes me
Convulse with desperation.
The role has been simplified:
The more money there is,
The more woe exists.
As our woes increase in values
There rise 1000 men, oblivious,
This treachery they follow
Has made me wonder
Who was who stabbed me last?
Have you no guilt?
This desperate resonating thirst,
Knows no true rest
From your downcast eyes.
My greatest desire
Becomes your ire;
To see your crimson eyes
Filled with pain,
Filled with rage.
These small drops
Surrounds my pain.
Lately there is …
There is too much
Of the wrong thing.






