A motherís love is what I never had
and though I donít know it, itís all I want.
With gaping unseen hole, I feel so bad,
nothing but voice of addictive taunt
torments frantic my being and I long
for whatever is not mine. Forbidden
yet enticing, I am compelled to do wrong,
to steal is all that makes my blood quicken.
In compulsive impulse most sensual,
I pilfer with great care or devil-may-care
with means ingenious and guileful,
or inept and blatant, full of despair.
I must possess an object physical
to expel torment psychological.