In this poem I confess

As it often pleases

The gods like to play chess

 but don’t like to touch the pieces

and from the wounds they suture

from a blooded mistake

but you do not hire a butcher

to bake you a cake

and from that repast

you do as the she command

never put clothes on that fast

since “shit it’s my husband.”

for the words can oft misuse

and I can tell by your aura

You think you have issues,

 let me introduce you to Pandora

as we toss through the flow

and resign ourselves to fate

Friends may come,friends may go

but enemies accumulate