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Dec 2014
I get that you're upset,
but don't put that **** on me.
It's you're bag to carry, mister;
every lie you say, you scream.
I'm ******* done with all your crap.
Call me ****** if you wish.
But soon I'm out, I'll be rid of you
and your rancid poison tongue.
not as much a poem as it is a rant. but still needed to get it out.
Liora Jensen
Written by
Liora Jensen
557
   Traveler and ---
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