by Richard Vince
There was an admission of guilt
Somewhere around three in the morning:
A revelation of the real desire that
Lay in wait behind pretended
Nobility, imagined integrity.
After all, I turned out to be
No better than the monster
From which I longed to rescue her.
That Stockholm might have room
For two syndromes was wishful thinking.
It all hinges on what the rescuer
Desires in return for his efforts:
The price I didn’t know I charged
Turned out to be extortionate,
A wry fantasy that hid
A sinister edge.
There is a fine line between
Wanting to restore self esteem and
Taking advantage of its absence;
I see now on which side I was.
Posted on 11/10/2021
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