get away from me
you're nothing but a two-faced lyncathropic waste of space.
One minute
the aura of beauty radiates like a rising sun
Second minute
I see the fangs and the disgusting rage
Third minute
You stormed away.
"Why do I put up with this?"
was the last thing you asked me
before you fumed off.
I ask myself the same question, sometimes.
Correction - all the fucking time.
Life is full of questions.
Like,
"I don't love you anymore."
Ha don't use that language rubbish with me
I know what a statement is.
You always have to seem clever
you think it's a bloody virtue.
It's just a face
for concealing all the hatred
for everyone but yourself.
how does it feel honey
when those fangs suck my blood dry
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Last poem for a while, sorry if it seems like flooding.
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