The sight of you makes her sick.
So sick,
Just **** her if you might..
You’re like the stain of bleach,
on her tongue,
In the back of her throat…
Like a day she’d like to forget,
But it flashes,
In her best days,
Making her so ill.
Through stained glass,
She tries to move on…
But..
What now ?
You’re like a recurring decimal.
Like the constant in my experiment,
Like the sand ,
On the beach
I hope the tide just washes you ,
A
  W
       A
          Y ….

Away…