I am a slave to serve my seed, and balance its sick needs.
Nothing but pain.
If it is tipped either way but straight down the middle of its cold heart.
I am a slave with no will or purpose.
It keeps me all night head deep in endless talk.
I do not identify with the secret and prudent whisperers who seek to lie, to hide their ignored sins.
Instead I let myself be haunted by cruel decisions our youth lead us.
Still let the guilt of used up girls punish my nights and guide my days.
Under my roof is my challenge.
I am a slave, and right now women are stepping out of little girls of mine.
A motion in play for a decade so close it went unseen.
Make my way for them in fear.
In my wake, for my own.