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k
Poems
Feb 2015
Apathy
You cut like raw glass
against smooth skin on
a dry day: bitterly, with such
sharp precision it pulses
with the blood that spills out
my wound.
Safe in the belly of your beholder,
you spare nothing but hurt
and demand nothing of anyone,
but least off, yourself.
You complicated *****; you
horrible fiend: there's little that's
worse than words scorched
with your name.
Written by
k
USA
(USA)
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