Apostrophe

Curling cue greed with plotting tentacles
write in serpentine claims of ownership
over each layer of identity,
from the red tape citadels
sucking dry all of passion's juices.

Insides decay like a melting clump of snow,
ever so slowly,
mind never noticing
that erosion in sensations,
till one day you just don't care anymore,
emotions turning leathery,
eyes blur
towards any demon, succubus,
saint or angel.

Image of RSVP invite left on doorstep
by embalmer party animal,
life becomes an anesthetic cocoon
while fantasizing how the jingle,
"I wish I were an Oscar Meyer Weiner"
was one's reputation.