Foul Sisters

Bitterness holds me. I do not like her embrace because it is cold. Her touch makes me rot not outwardly, but inside corrupting my soul. Her wretched voice crows: "Everyone else is crooked." No one else speaks up. I do not love her, but when she is here with me we see eye to eye. She then reminds me: "Condemnation will come soon." I hate her also. Together they drone robbing me of any will to get up and leave. The sisters love me. I withhold my affection, yet they cling to me. They each take a turn, kissing me with rancid breath and bugs in their hair. I want far better. I need better company, yet I sit with them.