worn-out

the woman in me is worn-out

tired

dragged by a life of grumbling and dour-speech

plopped

sat upon

questioned and trust-lacking

the god in me

reaching the top 

like all races of rats and bats

smiling

pretending

pampered like brats

like all pretenders of The Other

The One we strive to seduce

collapsed at home with a slow-flow of tears

scrubbing the god we seem to be

for one eternal second

dead

moving no one nowhere

but down

where all walk across you

praising you for the decent life you strove to live

for a second