Sociopath's Guilt Of Its Absence Poem by Stan Cavanaugh

Way back drowning in narcissism so obviously,
Laughing at this week's tragedy,
He's rolling in water,
drinking a bottle or two,
In apathy.

Way back sitting on the edge of the lake,
Praying to God, talking to a snake,
Staring into the blue sky to see a red hole,
Inside he sees a man and his soul and the bike he once stole.

Now out of the ground comes his catharsis,
A tree of cyanide, permanently ripe,
It seems to grow, into his mind.
Dismissing every forged apology,
He kills his sociopathy.