F**k,

Flittering like fatuous philistines,

Walking wading wallowing in self appeasement,

Indulging in orgies of self gratification.

F**k,

You f**king kids,

You traipse around like lost little lambs,

Slaughtering sweets as you tear good old starch to shreds,

F**k you you F**king kids,

You tear off bits of that bread to find your way back home,

What kind of f**king world do you live in where bread is a mother**king pathfinder?

Flittering and festering in your f**king ignorance “on your way to grandma’s house.

Sh*t wrong story,

Point is you f**king kids don’t know what your getting in for,

So you know what that old lady eats?

Little sh*thead pie that’s what!

But you don’t care you’re gonna get lost and leave the long road of home behind you,

And you know why?

Cause you don’t use bread to mark your way home,

When f**king birds like me are around to eat it.

Swear those f**king kids,

And they say I have a short attention span.

© 2016 Jared “I.J” Steinberg. All Rights Reserved.

#poetry