I Protest

I wish him dead every day,

and I don’t even need to say,

who he is or what he does,

I want him dead just because.

He’s drives me mad with greed and hate.

For his demise I cannot wait.

But is it him that I despise,

or is it me seen through his eyes?

I fed him with my apathy,

As he spun his tapestry.

The threads were always woven in,

but they were mostly pale and thin.

Now that they’re ugly thick and vain,

I only have myself to blame.

So, I may wish him gone or dead,

or admit it’s me who made this bed.

If you think he’s one you know,

maybe not and maybe so,

I won’t say the name out loud,

but I have joined the waking crowd.