Fall from grace with all but good intentions,

clambering about in the sinkhole sucking me down

Stabbed in the back by those I held in esteem,

thoughts turn to my fading sense of worth


Pull me under,

The dearth of oxygen leads to irrational thought as mud thickens like a fury of emotion lodged in the throat


Does it hurt?

Ask Caesar, lying in a pool of his own blood

Birds of a feather if they were plucked bare,

leaving a shivering mess of flesh and bone fearful of further scrutiny


Pull me under,

as I succumb to the manipulation and ulterior motives of my superiors.


Pessimist Poet’s Words for Thought

“For there to be betrayal, there would have to have been trust first.” -Suzanne Collins