Protocol

I’m not interested in riches
Burning bridges
Living vicious
Or his digits

The way he itches
Making wishes
Hiding in ditches
Losing inches

I lost interest in the fires
All desires
Walking wires
Finding liars

He’s living slummy
Chasing honey
A gifted rummy
Acting dummy

My eyes were faded
Mostly jaded
Temporarily sedated
Now I’m frustrated

I’m over his wall
Yet still I crawl
A broken doll
Hating his protocol

© Delia Ross. 2020


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