The Foul

Nausea rises in the pit of your stomach.
The Foul slithered in turning the smiles into frowns.
A presence that gave humans a regretful name.
Sickening with their proud disturbance,
they are the catalysis in cold hearted triumphs,
and parade them all announcing their efforts.
It is the spoiled fruit of their labor.
See how The Foul hastens the decay of joy...

Flaunting the turmoil,
and turning mournful compassion
into fiction-
you will begin to notice the arrival.
As if they secretly spawn,
and suddenly the atmosphere becomes dark.
They have you surrounded.
You cannon escape
the fork tounged vulgarity
of The Foul.