Contempt burns in my enemy’s eyes,
Their eyes haven’t seen love’s light,
They are dark pits,
Seeking to drag me into their pain,
They are ingenious in their scheming,
Planning to inflict their pain on me.
Their word vomit is continuous,
The stench of their breath,
Warns me that they are coming,
They think no one can smell it,
But, I know when they are near,
It smells like a dead animal left in the hot sun,
The unmistakable smell of death.
God is going to clean up the vomit,
Disinfectant’s sting will be a painful rebuke,
To the pride vomit stench,
My enemy loves his own stink,
But, my room will smell like a fresh garden,
Promising fresh life born in fertile soil.