Knowing The Mud Will Now Stick

Ain't really supposed to be here.

Like a dim lamp in the corner.
Moods are on display.

Drown out the arguments with apathy.
Care for nothing.
The council should call a meeting.

Dignitaries would all attend.
Frowning and harrumphing.
Leaning in and whispering into ears.
Nodding and looking, eyes wide.

Leave you out on your own, forgotten.
As quick as you can imagine, they would.
And slander your grave with more dirt.
Knowing the mud will now stick.

Grudges and envy of years mixed in.
Take in some deep breaths.
Hold them for a while and exhale long.

Ten times at least, slow and methodical.
Some oxygen is needed.

Blood ain't supposed to be too blue.