The poem's a rollercoaster of existential dread and modern apathy, isn't it? "Aged couldn’t-fucking-care-less" to "Who veritably do" — you've captured the zeitgeist of an age where even angels are "bureaucratic-drunk."

The lines "Can I care for you, darling?" and "Would you like a soft diet, are your gums sore?" are like a slap of irony in a world that's forgotten how to care.

Your stanzas are a mirror reflecting society's "lapse(s) in care," and boy, does it sting. Keep writing, you're onto something.