Feeding on Froth

I prefer to voice my disdain
To make all know my pain
I feed on my own sorrows
Feels good when I complain

I feed on my own spittle
I choke on what is little
When the feast is all around me
I chew on what is brittle

As a dying man’s death throttle
I collect my froth in bottle
When others come with struggles
I share with them these ‘bubbles’

So forgive me when I spit
Self-serving is my name
Feed on froth not satisfying
But it gives me cause to blame

God forgive me for my choking
Fixing things that are not broken
I confess my love for pity
My complaints make praise a token

Psalms 73:3 For I was envious at the foolish, when I saw the prosperity of the wicked.