The Conductor

Straight backed, shoulders rigid, eyes cold as steel.
Head raised sky high, your gaze sweep across the floor –
Seeking out victims is what you adore.
For a cold-hearted mistress, evil is your appeal.

Like a conductor, you expect others to follow
Your rhythm and command; but it’s out of key.
Degraded to a whine, a broken harmony –
Chaos is your bloodline and misery’s what you know.

A loud screech and a firework of childish insults
Escape your lips for hours and hours, nonstop –
Raging unheeded like a bull in a china shop,
How do you even consider yourself an adult?

Old and weathered, frown lines canvas a face
Once beautiful, once gentle; but no more.
Happiness abandoned your side a decade before –
All that is left now is a basket case.

Half a century in, you’ve a long way to go.
Time’s not a fool – it won’t at your instance bend.
So start altering your variety, I recommend,
And relinquish your solitary show.

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