I could wrap my thoughts around the world 8000 times.
My problems, strung together, seem endless,
and that’s the point. They keep me here,
pinned to a world of football and beer,
believing this is all there is.
I could hold you against the wall until you cry,
breathless, I enjoy your surprised struggle.
Overtaking you brings on its own delight.
You didn’t know I was equal to the fight,
and you dumbly thought its opposite was love.
Or I could jam more pins into the doll
enjoying every stab a vengeance due.
Knowing you’re confused at why you feel
what you cannot see, as if it’s real,
then sadly giving up in false despair.
But I am tired of sin’s fake guilt and shame.
It’s but myself I hurt each time.
1 million lives I’ve circled back again.
Each time believing ego is my friend,
But this time there must be another way.