Wordsmith

Weaving a trap of pretense,
bathed in humility,
for everyone to fall
into your nothingness.

Crafter of lies.
Appeasing the meek and the wise.
Licking the arses
of those who don’t know you.
Pushing away
those of old who do.

Once figured out,
you run and hide,
elaborating a master escape
to cover your weakness.
The fear to be known
for what you are: a coward.

The worst kind.

My kind.

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