Worse than rat poison
is the demon Envy,
corroding all that she touches
and all that she receives,
pounding a continual pulse
of grandiose dissatisfaction,
bitterness exquisite
(celebrated for its profound intensity
and self-bestowed entitlement)
as she, Envy, promenades in the garb of glorified self-pity,
turning her miserable self 'round and 'round,
gnarled fingers pointing and coarse voice screeching,
"Give that to me! That should be mine!"
shoving love rudely to the sidelines
in her compulsion to receive, receive, receive
all that is her "due" . . .
none of which could ever make
such a cold-blooded vixen
happy.
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