The Plaster Saint

Purveyors of static, weave
Words from the fabric of
Life I’m fed up this game
Pointing your fingers your
Whining voice lingers how
Obvious we’re all to blame
When indifference precedes
The most basic of needs like
Empathy, love, and respect
It’s you cultivating resentment
And trading it in for the badge
Of “Correct.”
Brandish your title but know
It is vital; your ego is out of
Control!
The hypocrite sits and while
Throwing her fits, she clearly
Denies her own role.
This malcontent waiting with
Passion degrading, these
Feelings are not a good fit
The way that they dress  
In my eyes would suggest,
They have nothing true to
Admit.