Wish-a-coward to your idiocy

The creature's birth
on the third daybreak,
on the last month of the year,
burdened the mankind with another muddy lake
of melodramatic mutinies
which had shot beneath the fears
that whatever it does, meets the same fate.
I wonder of the pleasures of its lonely life,
when it sits around and plays pretence,
And with its rubber knife,
it threatens an offense.

It's genius and knowledge,
Is a wonder to behold,
When its brain's withered foliage,
begins to unfold.
When it parts its black lips,
and smokes the lousy jasmine,
the wisdom on her fingertips,
dries up to a famine.

But it doesn't stop its pursuit,
of a friendless recluse.
And An any a friend it lacks,
for a thousand trucks of black
tar fills its soulless cracks.

Why dost thou exist?
Is a question that persists,
in the mouths of dying wit,
which through its mind door - quit.
It arouses much pity,
the years of it's twilight will be spend stroking kitties.

Why does it challenge the destiny it has got?
the climax of its life has been reached and well wrought,
All that it awaits from time is caught in a rot,
living a delusion that there's something to be sought.
Thinking its a Devdas waiting for its Paro,
nothing will it receive but a sweet bowl of sorrow.

It is a skeletal carcass,
devoid of any talent; and artless.
It dares to look up to the wise wordsmith,
but that's not true, he's just a myth.
The only thing he is, is a human,
Unlike the creature who was a nuisance.
Living a burdensome life hideously,

wish-a-coward to your idiocy -
let me put you out of your misery.