brush my guilt
as the sneer punctured my innocence
the vermin that paralyzed with his poison
the scoundrel with his tricks
a weapon of gifts and attention
to subdue my blushed youth
i became changed
utilized like a tool
but the game was rigged
as the sore looser, i walked away
drenched with crimson sweat and pitied
here i stand
as i never gave up
punctuated with my fists
the fruitless fight
he still gained the ownership of my flesh
wires and a bolt, break free
you shared a similar fate
the tales of what was taken by force and grit
they constructed this grid to entrap us
pillaging what remains of us by our own
— shame

© simon whittle – from lovers’ tiff: a ballad

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