He mirrors a mask
A profile camouflaged
Anonymous he prowls
A hiss, a venomous spit
You know he is around
A ruinous mind, a callous tongue
Dubious descendants
Around he hangs
Suave, svelte, smooth as silk
Till he belches fire and gore
An abuse, slang, blame, a barb
Prickly thorns, thistles sharp
I meet him often
On my poems and tales
So do others
As he snakes and slithers
My soul sis tasted the poison and said
“Oh don’t bother! He’s a troll”
I shook my head and said,
“No! I think he’s just a troubled soul”
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