S.R. Appelmans
I’ve locked myself in the crumbling living room
I’m running around trying to grab forgiveness
by the throat but the little rat won’t stay still
I chase it around the filthy carpet to corner
it underneath a stray chair
I snatch it up in my grimy hands
before it wriggles out of my grip and writhes
on the floor when I stomp on its scaly tail
It’s shrieking at me and I’m shrieking back til
our cries bounce off the peeling walls
It isn’t until blood gurgles between its tiny teeth
and its furred little body lies still
That I realize what it was trying to tell me
“I’m yours, I’m yours”
