E is for Empty

Vertices, and purple trees

throw away a life for free

begging please, a life of ease

tasting naught but a naughty tease

do they see a man of sleaze

or a feckless fool whose head be squeezed

by a rampant will for killing sprees

of people he believes are fleas

God's decrees to fall to knees

and pray avoidance of seven seas

demons slash the one who flees

directions floating on the breeze

yet when decembers foggy freeze

shatters a chorus of yelping Me's

the clutter of distraction leaves

a story whose dusty unturned leaves

are full of trite cliche cheese

of a hero whose ideals agree

with an author whose reputation sullies

a man never known as Mr. P.

Whose exploits make a stomach quease

in a time when he should be catching Z's

on a bed devoid of lovers grease

driven by a lust for peace.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

rhymes became hard to find after a time, so disjointed? fine

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