Words uttered as from flypaper,
Sticky, heavy, not letting go, with no point
Ever finished. Not worthy of voice any more.
Okra goo, dependency issues string along
From time passed together for many years.
I've been struggling so long in your quicksand.
I dream of release, knowing the effort involved.
As a slug in your wasteland, I've grown a shell,
To protect me in this long, slow
Escape from our perpetual, spiritual hell.
Your spider web, with eggs laid,
Won't trap me again, not like before.
With no intellectual enticement left,
Only comfortable, mutual bad habits
Lure me to remain in your vile urban wasteland.
So I begin my crawl away, feeling sorry for you,
But unwilling to sacrifice my soul in your oven.
Much too high a price to pay for love
When self-respect is the only remaining barter.
© Copyright 2006 a Sunflower in Texas (UN: patrice at Writing.Com).
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