Trolling For Supper

Illusory anonymity on the wild, wild, web
Turns to wild words much too easily said.
The meek make requite with pent vitriolic,
Saintly in the sunlight yet secretively toxic.

The licentious lead the mob in their agitation,
Superficially moralistic verbal masturbation.
Then, returning to the bosom of social propriety
Behind a mask of reason and benign normality.

The sickness sleeps. Awaits with dark intents.
For honest stumble made fat with cold offence.
The pack descends to the feast with filthy ire.
To drag the prey away to their faux-anger fire.

Suddenly sated, they turn toward their other life,
Reasonable man. Joyful paragon. Loving wife.
In mirrors they see a proud, crusading saviour,
Kept hidden like a closeted, offensive whore.


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