Sunday, 3 May 2020
I put some washing on but all I see,
Are those distinctive pants that call to me.
At cycles end I hang the clean clothes out,
But once again, those pants are all I see.
Whilst wrestling with the dryer all I see,
Are those same pants so clean and dry for me,
I summon other things to think about,
But floating pants is all my mind can see.
I put the clothes away so I can't see,
Those pants that have debilitated me,
I close the drawer whilst clawed by nagging doubt,
But all goes black, I'm blind, I cannot see.
I may have dreamt, I wake but still can't see,
But then there's light and I look down at me,
I get picked up and legs are slid inside,
And now those pants are all that I can be.
An understanding forms and now I see,
There's bum cheeks and a knob inside of me,
My hands reach down and I am opened wide,
The access to the pants that I must be.
The real me will never ever see,
That hypnotising pants have taken me.
The jeans are pulled up trapping me inside,
A daunting glimpse of what my life must be.
It's late, but trousers down at last I see,
It's bed time and the washing bin for me.
I'm still alive but part of me has died,
My life is pants but that's all I can be.