She’s my nutrition.
Her scarcity stunts my growth;
but there’s little chance of salvation
for, to her, I am a malignant growth
that gets under her skin
then infects her brain and turns her body into an inferno of carnal fever.
She refuses the antidote and, in exile, finds ways to cope
while I waste away
hanging from her murderous rope.

© June 2014 Kelvin S. Pompey

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