Dead Inside

I have a friend
who is dead inside,
you can hear it in his voice,
you can see it in his eyes.

Never takes responsibility
for the things that he does,
never feels remorse
for losing those he loves.

Always blaming others
for the failures in his life,
always finding faults
with his friends and his wife.

Thus passed his middle age,
as he tried to dull the pain
with alcohol and soft core rage,
and holiness movement shame.

He sits now upon a couch,
the throne from which he rules his house,
and refuses any chance to change,
claims the Bible will clean his stain.

And all who enter his home can see
a man trapped like Osiris in a tree,
a selfish martyr, full of selfish pride,
a living man who is dead inside.

© Francisco G. Rodriquez, 2012