She doesn't read my poetry,
And throws away my stuff.
She cannot stand my music,
I think I breathe too much.

The bile I stutter from my tongue,
Is nothing compared to hers.
She's a wasp and I am stung,
But she's only using her words.

The selfishness she commandeers,
It does nothing but hurt me so.
As she cuts her skin destroying herself,
She only let's me know.