It’s premature to think you’ve got me,
Though I’m weakened and pitiful,
Trashing around, like a wounded animal,
One second from bitting off my foot.
It’s my life and my choosing,
When you see me bleeding, caught in a trap,
Instead of gloating, you should be asking –
Is there a chance I wanted it to end, like that?
One thought on “Sorry, not sorry”