I want you to dribble.
I want you to turn
From the matriarch past
To a subject to learn.
I want to state plainly.
I want you to see
What your vain, selfish givings
Have created in me:
Most lustful of torments,
Low pains from my knees,
A pattern for this mind's
Truly bittersweet disease.
Just twelve years of innocence,
Could've thanked you for that,
As you gouged in this monster
Within this boy on his back.
I often search for the key now,
That I might walk from this cell.
But I'm still Pavlov's pup,
With you holding the bell.
Nov 2, 2011
Nov 2, 2011 at 1:42 AM UTC
I want you to dribble.
I want you to turn
From the matriarch past
To a subject to learn.
I want to state plainly.
I want you to see
What your vain, selfish givings
Have created in me:
Most lustful of torments,
Low pains from my knees,
A pattern for this mind's
Truly bittersweet disease.
Just twelve years of innocence,
Could've thanked you for that,
As you gouged in this monster
Within this boy on his back.
I often search for the key now,
That I might walk from this cell.
But I'm still Pavlov's pup,
With you holding the bell.
