Vulture club.

VULTURE CLUB.
sneak

You grow on me in a fungal way.
Irrationally you have your say.
So little substance to each line.
Infectiously you rape my time.
Digesting thought as you read on.
I'll be here when you have gone.
Pretentious lines that make no sense.
Reciting boredom in defence.
Lethargically in awe of sleep,
as over-bearing summers creep -
into the cells of my closed mind.
So very little left to find.
Waiting silently for rain.
For shorter days to take the blame.
Frustrations boiled in blatant heat.
Resentful sighs on Coma Street.
Where fashion-trends dictate the day,
as painted faces fight decay.
Flirting with unruly smile.
Drowning in my lack of style.
Bowing heads in sympathy.
Their overkill, the death of me.
Replicating every trend.
A club for clones that so offend.
For all they are is all I hate.
The happy smiley reprobates.

sneak