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Poetry fails me. And I it.

Love has torn me. The final bit.

No longer human, no longer sane.

You dug the grave; a hellish pit.

 

You named it love. You drank the dirt.

Called me a lady; groped for my skirt.

But a fantasy’s a fantasy and we die.

I am ugly but so is your shirt.

 

Dry a dream. Fry a heart.

A mind atrophic; a lonely start.

Live in a corner and die a hero.

Save yourself; you’re so smart.

 

Poetry fails me.

And I it.

Open your eyes.

It’s not rain, it’s spit.

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