trapped
ankles and wrists bound
to each corresponding post of the bed,
a nervous look on my face
as you appear through the door,
with adult toys and whips
I’m beginning to slightly regret,
coming round to ask
for my lawnmower back,
trapped like a fish on a hook
I’m held in place by an overlord, trapped,
like a fly in the web of a hungry spider
you wish to devour my spouts spirit, let sadness prevail,
slapping something that resembled a truncheon from fist to hand
and muttering rants that only gave my ears a few solid words,
I believe I now understand where its true home is
and that thought doesn’t fill my heart with desire,
an open and half empty tube of lube
rests there quietly on the bedside table,
dear god woman, just keep the lawnmower
I’ll just let it grow,
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