I am not a tendency
to check or keep in line.
Not by you, my erstwhile love
nor any other swine.

You claimed my pores like property
and drank my adoration
until it had sufficiently
fed your ego to inflation.

Never asked for one damn thing
in return for what I gave.
Just mere respect and loyalty
but for another you would save.

The only other person
who got more than I bestowed you
was the man I had betrothed.
In him, those things were true.

I left him in a meltdown;
stupid youth our bitter enemy.
But that’s another story
in the book of distant memory.

Wisdom is now the fixture;
ironic that you are not.
I sit in point blank range
of karma’s dead on shot.