Crumbs
I'm waiting...
for crumbs to drop
from the master's table.
I'm submissive and boring
and there you are... snoring...
again.
But when they drop
those crumbs are a banquet
to me.
And they keep me nourished
and fed, and I flourish
in your renewed interest
for now...
at least,
till the supply
runs out.
How long will I linger?
Round your little finger
I'm wound.
Unsound.
From you I must flee
If just a degree
of pure dignity
I can keep.
So steep....
the slope that I slide down
and climb
each time.
No more.
RATINGS BREAKDOWN
POST A COMMENT
Wanna say something? Make yourself heard!
We reserve the right to delete spam, flames, or other nasty stuff.
4 COMMENTS ABOUT THIS STORY RSS
STORY TAGS
2 PARTICIPANTS IN THIS STORY
RELATED STORIES RSS
BY THE SAME AUTHOR RSS
THE GOODS
You're currently reading a chapter in the story
Unrequited. This chapter
was posted on July 7, 2008 by
Tasha_Noble.
This is a collaborative story.
This story is filed under:
Poetry
STORY CATEGORIES
