My compulsion leaks out of my soul everyday.
Waiting like Pavlov's dog each moment for some little treat to feed my desire.
Simple two word texts are my treats.
Saying little and only suggesting,
for the second it takes for you peck it out,
that you thought of me.
That's all it takes,
it makes no sense,
it Is silly.
I am a fool.
I am the dog.
Wednesday, December 7, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: angst,love