Grip Poem by Jennifer Strubel

Tick tock the pendulum churns,
mocking the monotony -
which remains a secret to the one I yearn.
Or pretend to yearn for, as I play house.
Fooled by the apron,
I bear a cross under my blouse.
Clenched close to my heart,
A false security
To comfort the fact God is not a part
with-in my mind, I go there at a moment,
when I feel obliged to make love
though inside I am dormant.
Tick tock the pendulum sways,
marking time without change.
In our little house, days and days
of disgusting behavior.
How well I can act when you look so soft.
I feel nothing, you are not my saviour.
A sick reality is what i´ve got.
Though one thing can be said,
I have me, and you have not.