scraped knees from your mouth's actions,

scraped soul from your mental failures,

you're a walking band-aid,

all damaged goods and pain,

no good for anything real,

only as a chew-toy,

for a disobedient dog,

or one whose mess you watch being made,

with a reserved hand.

 

leash your failure,

and hide it away again;

dogs will be dogs,

and bitches will be bitches.