But I am patient, and I understand something fundamental about the dichotomy of your role. It's not me your fighting. It's the coiled desire you keep so tightly in check, the sliver of need I've awoken.
It is surrendering to your desire you fight against.
And my firm grip, my gaze as it watches you, my words that detail the way I will lay you out as a feast, the knowledge I will follow through, despite your own fears – these are just the first steps.
'Don't Feed the Words' said the sign.
7 thoughts on “a poem, like a cage”
“Don’t Feed the Words.”
yes, the surrendering is the thing, not you…never you…
That was depressing and sad….
No one loves you…
Quite wrong, NE.
NE has a tendency to become quite bratty after she has received a good beating.
I couldn’t help it.
I have chanced upon your blog. Lots to feed the imagination but bloody scarty poem. Freaked me out the way you read it.