end result.

you are a robot monkey
dancing incessantly
to peter gabriel.
begging for release
and gaining only more bondage.
you are cubed pork
pierced incessantly
as part of a kabob.
begging for release,
stuck between a pepper and a tiny, tiny corn.
you were
(notice the ( tense) change)
once,
athos, broodingness itself
porthos, queen's giftee,
aramis, sluttiest priest of the semester,
all rolled into one.
I guess
not all of us
survive the D'artagnan of our lives.
I guess some of us want to get
into fisticuffs
and die
not even defending our king.
So, little kabob,
protect on.
This poem sucks.