Falling down…

Running deeper than…

Mere appearances, reflections.

Your demeanor, presence, your aura is an eyesore.

They have,



and are sliding further…

I fear.

That you need more than hands…

To procure, secure and suture the wounds.

You cry.

But your muffled wails for attention,


The conflagration that is your lot.

Your hauteur breeds discontent, securing immurement.

Eliciting stares of…


Cutting deeply…

Knowing this construct…

The opposite of honor.

Simplified, some liken it.

To the sins of the father.

While most.

See it as crass.

I elect not to see an ass.

I beseech you.

Pull up your pants…

So that your expectations… Can follow.




  1. emersenlee says:

    Good piece. I don’t get the whole slouchy pants either….


    1. shunpwrites says:

      Thanks Emersen… Did you get where I was going with it initially or did it hit you at the end?


      1. emersenlee says:

        At the end☺️ first I was thinking you were speaking metaphorically and then I got to the end. And then the kid I saw the other day came to mind, he had his pants belted under his butte. Lol.


      2. shunpwrites says:

        It is so horrible, I really have no words for it!


      3. emersenlee says:

        Lol. His drawers were old and ratty too.


      4. shunpwrites says:

        Oh lord.. Pouring stupidity into the open wound of insanity!


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