love letters to sociopaths

dollars you are free to take, whatever i can grow those back
let the moths grow in the folds of my billfold
better out than in when dusty flutter out
grade my own slope, plane it down level

the pointlessness of this effort
the absolute degrading nature of this sentiment
why even try to care, i must enjoy that
feeling like i've torn a hangnail down too low
feeling that i'lve lost the tip of my finger
i used to feel things with that

fuck it if someone i considered kindred
no lock in place nor chain dividing
can't muster up the self respect to give me peace
i won't waste the time to talk about it, not outright
i'll just cook a stew
and feed it to the rats out back