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Ripened and rotted, you’ve lingered
I struggle now to pluck the stench from the
silk bedding, unwilling to admit
that you are just no good.
how our lust defines us,
influences the abandonment
of our preservation.
Like a siren,
peace abandons me
and I’m left haunted by the
admittance of your idle truth.
You are what my mother warned me of.
A devil with his hand stretched out.
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