The Hand That Feeds


United States
44° 55' 7.7844" N, 93° 29' 24.8604" W

I bite the hand that feeds,
And laugh as it recedes,
Disregard my dirty deeds,
And neglect all my needs,

For they are never met,
The simplest regret,
This I can bet,
In stone they’ve been set,

And death is cruel,
The darkest jewel,
Is merely fuel,
To turn the warmest hearts cool,

Nothing to look forward to,
Except you,
But you feel not as I do,
So I remain one, never to be two,

I can’t be sent to my place,
But yet I cannot face,
The lines I’m forced to chase,
Confined in vast space.


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