Poem: Rhibald Othello

The Selfish Swine
I love all the time
cares not
for my sleep
or my food.

Her only concern
is her cigarettes burn
and the swell of her
all-changing mood.

My pain doesn't move her,
my words come out silent.
Continuing hubris
that strikes me
like violence.

While owning the World,
she spits on this bum.
Distorting my heart-ache
and sucking her thumb.