Painful progression

Wake up they said, keep up they added.
The fly in the ointment is my stronger sense of clarity.
The tiger who sits and waits for its meal to pass on by.
So easily I offer my head sometimes, too many times I crawl right inside to count the teeth.
Is it down to me to save your soul, is it my responsibility to give more when I feel wrung out?
Like a turnstile at a busy underground station, I’m overused and in need of rest.
Don’t pinch me, don’t poke me, let me sleep and let me dream.
This feels so odd to me now, must I keep going though I’m unable?
I spill words like teeth before you in the hope you’ll spell out reciprocity.
Scrabbling the board, flicking away the fillings and cracked enamel.
Curse this sweet tooth.
You come up with all consonants and monopoly money. You cannot buy me I say.
So I sit back, and do what needs to be done.
I go back to licking your shoes and kissing your ass.
Yet this generosity leaves me defenceless.
As the wave breaks in my mind, it washes the devotion away.
Sometimes my offering leaves me disabled.
I’m no longer sure it registers with you anymore, you mark it up and assume the position.
I shuffle lower and kiss your feet.
Must I continue when I’m so incomplete?
Give me the shell of your being so I can climb inside and make a home there, let me decorate with things you do not notice.
Pretty pictures and wallpaper made from recycled emotions.
Do not take my kindness for weakness though, I have struggled through things that would make you disintegrate.
Do I continue with this sense of duty, dancing in the masquerade called love?

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