Even a beaten dog grows wild,
It fights to escape its painful cage.
Compared to them, humans are quite mild -
They don’t seem to fight, but rather assuage.
Forgiving those who deserve the chains,
We are a masochistic species at heart.
The string wrapped around our own throat remains,
And with it we cannot bear to part.
Here, the other side of that dirty coin,
Holders of the string don’t often start as such.
But realize it’s satisfying to take and purloin,
To crush something pure into mulch and mush.
The greater the love, the greater the yoke,
You can still fear what once was cherished -
The roses release such a deceiving, scented smoke,
You don’t realize they’ve already perished.
As the one once indulged, stays forever sly -
The one once bitten, returns twice as shy.
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