Pigs

They all think they are so different,
oblivious to the pieces that fit into the puzzle
and ignorant to the stereotypes they follow,
hand-in-hand with the complaints.
They see themselves in covered mirrors,
with tapestries of accomplishments
woven into their backgrounds, like bragging,
but they are much too modest for that.
They all have so much to offer through
smashing good looks, smashing good charm;
they’re smashed and smashing dreams.
They get theirs and you’re the whore,
left with the inevitable regret and, with it, guilt
which comes because you had a choice in this.
The suave swagger they seduced you with
can easily transform into a dash—away.
Good luck, you’ve changed, I’m gone.
They all think they are so different;
like God somehow rewired a single few
and made them the good examples
above all the rest of the pigs.
With snouts hidden by persuasion,
they’re leading you into their filth.