So I'm your fool now? Some distrusted liar?
Your words are the anti-punchline to love
that I gave to you in complete desire
in genuine ecstasy --and for what?
So you can move on and rewrite your cause?
Recreate stories to wash your sins pure
Can poetry convey how hard it was
to give you myself based on "I'm not so sure"
or the moments you hurt me (I lost count) --
deserting me, not wanting me around?
My heart loved you most. My hands salted red;
stains from the tears you never felt me cry
when begging -- pleading -- for you to regret
the pain you inflicted from quiet lies
I'll play the bad girl -- the mean, heartless wench
Blooming amid your foul, deceitful stench
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