C O N T R O L Yourself

Crease of the brow, I know you’re there
You sicken me.
Tell the tale of the worthless thoughts of a
Lonely, bloody old hound
Who’s been kicked more times than the wise man can
Count on his fingers
And yet, he longs to have that single pat on the head
It was make his day, it would
But those worthless humans are too lazy to bend over.
Remember, children. Dogs have no feelings, don’t listen to those
Maniac people with the too-small eyeglasses barely fitting their eyes
You’re getting old, you old bitch
Boney hands; saggy, annoying drooping eyes
Impression of wisdom
Oh, you sicken me. I want to see you die
But why, oh why, do I long for your attention?
Knowing I won’t do a damned thing to harm, but only
To see you smile?
I love you, I know I do
Forgive me
I’ll never do it again