Trickle Down Acrostics

Just say horrible things, those tongue-twisting errand boys of ire. They are your serenity’s sirens, toxic work environment. Dissent so fucking quiet you don’t even recognize the assembly lines, groaning and dying an outsourced death. 

Just say horrible things and hope for the best, hurricane of coffee breath carrying results toward a successful quarter, back in the black, barked commands growing hoarser.

Eviscerate the porter to 

profit the patron, trickle down acrostics

created for vowels and though consonants cry foul, our lives form the bowels of the language twirled above their lips.

Say horrible things because it’s their dream to unfurl us, for the sake of certain pearls; Shangri-La for an everlasting kiss with poisoned sights.

Say all these things because some have lost sight of follow the leader.

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