Unsightly

Unsightly, grotesque a cockroach,
walked upon a track of asphalt-
In his recluse, picked his own fault;
for none gave him an approach. Hurriedly he scurried with passion
to and from people he adored,
his gesture reimbursed with revulsion,
and often he was left ignored. The Cockroach dreamed of speech,
but the humans spoke not, a roach's tongue-
much to say he had, in his lung;
but it came out as but a mere screech. In his fancy, he musingly yearned for
a maiden sculpted of moonlight;
Abhor! Abhor!
himself he did, on the maiden's plight. He walked, with his six tiny feet,
looking up towards the humans' face-
looking down the asphalt in disgrace;
looking within, he declared his life complete. The Cockroach walked to the mid
of that track, overrun with many a metal beast
and in a blink…
his existence ceased. In a twisted, distorted world without a friend,
I imagine myself a roach-
these laments encroach;
I find solace fantasizing my end.