Impotent

This isn’t what a man should be,

He feels it in her stare —

Although there’s no one else who knows

And just as few who care

 

He feels the weight of everyone,

As though they, too, gaze steady

Upon a man whose blood won’t flow:

It’s like he’s dead

Already

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

One thought on “Impotent”

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