My Writers Circle

Poets Corner => Review My Poetry => Topic started by: NothingName on March 09, 2018, 07:58:10 PM

Title: Pocket Money
Post by: NothingName on March 09, 2018, 07:58:10 PM
Like a peg in your desire,
I will take you to church,
Were you born this sick, my son
In this debt-less debt, a cripple
I have encoded you,
Mystified, deified, booked,
That, I have so little of myself,
I hide, fetishize, desire,
In this religion I need your guilt,
For a tooth fairy, money, a birthday,
In happiness, I will dope you with gild,
My son, I will take you to church,
And, when the strobe light of
childhood is through, my son,
For no payment to the slave
market for you; a cult religion;
Another fool, too young, too naive,
to seeŚ destined to repeat,
my conspiracy.