You make me feel good,
and I hate you for that,
you rat,
you little-green-leafy rat.

Get out of my house,
and let me enjoy something
without your help,
without your voice in my ear.

Make haste,
you scoundrel,
you knave,
you brute-with-long-eyelashes...
forcing me without arms,
without shape,
with but charm.

What makes you:
materia subtili
hysteria unweildy--
though immobilely so--
or me?

I knew it was me.

09/11/2008

Posted on 09/12/2008
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