We Are The System by Paul Tristram

Look at me smiling in greeting,

hand outstretched to welcome you,

I'm a cunt.




I'll sleep with your wife, your sister,

your family.

I'll pick up the pocket shrapnel

that falls out of your trousers in the

back of the taxi and use it to buy

a round of drinks after you've left.

I'm a cunt.




But look at my suit, my cigarette lighter,

the arrogant, perfect woman upon my arm,

I am God.


You are nothing, behave and follow

my direction or drop back into the

gutter which you crawled from.

You Cunt.

*used with the kind permission of the author, who blogs here*