by Alexandra Wilson

Created on: July 05, 2008

There, on a stool
seemingly molded to his
accomodation
He sips his latest poison
Of hops, barley, and entitlement
Until he's comfortably dilluted

Resentment bubbles as he trips
up the steps
Finding my name
The first to curse
Dissolving all forgiveness
As his eyes slowly catch
The mess left behind
From his last command
I stand firmly at the door
Allowing him the time
to conjure his words
Knowing I was to be stationed
as closely as this
To ensure No further frustration

No matter the words
Or the outcome
I find that I am guilty
For Perfection.
For Obligation.
For Family.

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