Nursery Rhymes

I submit. To everything. Every puzzle I can't solve. Every substance that's more charming than reality. Every piece of someone else's flesh that temporarily filled this hole in me.

I admit. It was easy to give up. No strugggle there. That nothing was ever taken from me. I never possessed. Life. Hope. Happiness.

They're just words. Cruel notions dangled like plastic carrots infront of the hungry.

Submission is not a decision. It's a plea.

The parrot recites the words, but it doesn't understand what it speaks. The hours deal me thse cards, but I place no bets.

Without a life to fall back on all I can ever be is dead. My submissions are received, but not kept.

And I admit, nothing was lost. But I can see it. And I want it. Want to know how it feels to lose something. To have had it.

Into the woods again. With my empty basket.

Looking for the wolf.