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.