Sunday, December 19


I'm at my breaking point.

you're the spider inches from my face
ready to pounce
ready to bite
ready to harm, to cut, to rape
you steal my feeling in the form of words
because your pain
it taught you no better
I own my own contrition
you own your imitation
a stream of unforgiving
and your world is far from mine
but you covet another
its over but I cling to it
the thought of a difference
to divagate

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