by DaddyO
Isolated and alone
I'm not uninspired;
My muse has
Just been
Despair
And as my
Mistress
She's always there
Reliable and aware
of "my situation"
She calls it.
Satisfaction.
Domination in
Sadistic fashion.
Delighting in my
Desperation
And playing on my
Pain.
Bending up
Shooting me down
She gets me
Groveling,
Pleading, kissing
Her boots
And unlike other lovers
She always allows me
To come back
Even after
Someone else.
(Like immediately after
Someone else)
Over and over again.
And each
Undeniably intense
Experience is
Intensified undeniably
By her instincts:
She sniffs out anything
I've been hiding
So we've no secrets.
I'd call it love
But she won't allow me
To use it as an adjective.
"Just as a verb, you turd"
And never returned.