Vent

The chaos we try to end,
We waiting for it to at least bend,
Just so that we can call him friend,
But life is no friend you will find,
It only does so as to pretend,
Give you assurance of things to append,
Then frustrate you with no apologies made.
Cruelty served in platters,
Can’t you see these patterns?
It’s not the obvious tatters,
karma is no bitch, don't attar,
Them words will feel like flatter,
Then she'll come for you later.
I ain't feeling a poem to be real,
But the words keep wanting me to kill,
They want to be let out to feel,
What it's like when someone vents for real.