Confessions Of a Weasel
I love to leech,
And dine on insecurities.
I love to prey on those I flatter.
Hoping what I take from them does not matter.
I love to squeal.
Lie and cheat.
But never can you accuse me,
Of not appreciating...
My ability to select fresh bait.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
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