I will let you know;
I will let you know.
Your discretion is the law,
Your conviction always binding.
The iron on my wrists a reminder of your fist,
The way you pull, I will always go.
The more I stumble, the more you pull.
The more I try to fly, the harder I always fall.
On my knees, watching you feast,
My time is your time to use as you please.
Throw me a bone, smile at me.
That is enough to satisfy your inner beast.
I will let you know;
I will let you know;
You will never let me know.
And I, will never let you go.
YOU ARE READING
The Sickness
PoetryWe are full of rot. A slow rot that eats away at every single one of us like ants in soft, damp wood. Let the infestation thrive within. We are sick.
