Poems of a Neurotic Insomniac

Giving in

It comes to your doorstep,
begging.

You know you shouldn't
give in:
strays always
come back for food.

It'll leave
once its needs are satisfied,
but it'll come back,
expecting you to feed it once more.

It'll come more often,
bringing more with it,
and you are expected to feed them all.
Their wish is your command.

They'll leave you all alone
once they're satisfied.
You mean nothing to them.
You only exist to serve them.

You know all of this,
and yet you give in to it.
It comes more often,
and brings more with it.

You give it your food,
and you give what's left to the rest,
leaving nothing
for yourself.

They'll come to your doorstep,
starving.

You have nothing left,
so you let them feed on you.