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Sarah Isma Nov 2017
what a coward you are,
you say yourself a man yet you can't walk across the room to get your own clothes,
you hardly take care, your disheveled hair you say it's a style,
might i misheard you but i swear it's not it,
you hide behind mum for whenever things get rough,
ah but still you break her heart,
and i am angry,
angry that she lets you break her heart piece upon piece,
shred her money dollar after dollar,
and tear this house brick after brick,
you are a selfish man indeed,
as for once i thought i could count on you and look up as if you are my own hero,
a brother who i could admire,
but no,
as the day you've swung your fist at me,
the day you've dared to hold a knife in front of me-
swearing one day that you'd **** me,
you are not a man,
and you have never been my brother,
you are vile,
i see either death could only change you otherwise.
this is... very personal. A piece for something i hate, though i wish things would change.

— The End —