Ferme

Torture myself
Until I’ve had enough

Loosen up

I can’t contend
Not content
With the man
In my throat

Drum roll
Detestable
Bathe me in concrete
No words
You’ll never need

Making contact
Dragging my feet
Watch as I lead
Us into quicksand

There’s always one thing
One thing that’s true

I won’t grow out of it

Reeling
Desperate
For anyone
Who can tell me

It’s not fun

Any more

I’m the thing
You hate
Almost

I’m the one
You love

The most

© 2006, Mosquitobyte