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Everything you say and do, I still resent you. And from my heart of hearts, I wish your horrid, drawn out death the easiest of starts. Your lips breed putrid cologne That rots me from the cores of bone. Your presence drags on my flesh to make it crawl Enough that i'd rather bang my head against the wall. My poetry even suffers from this burning hate And leaves it to a simple, rhyming fate. I crossed the line from passion and grown to detest The time spent with you, which began so blest. My mind is bare and uncomplicated thanks to you So just remember, Everything you say and do, I still deplore, detest, and loathe Myself.
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Aug 5, 2012
Aug 5, 2012 at 1:26 PM UTC
The Art of Loathing
Everything you say and do, I still resent you. And from my heart of hearts, I wish your horrid, drawn out death the easiest of starts. Your lips breed putrid cologne That rots me from the cores of bone. Your presence drags on my flesh to make it crawl Enough that i'd rather bang my head against the wall. My poetry even suffers from this burning hate And leaves it to a simple, rhyming fate. I crossed the line from passion and grown to detest The time spent with you, which began so blest. My mind is bare and uncomplicated thanks to you So just remember, Everything you say and do, I still deplore, detest, and loathe Myself.
arlene-bozich
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Aug 5, 2012
Aug 5, 2012 at 1:26 PM UTC
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