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#distaste
I'm your knight in shining armour I'm your bane, your adipose I'm the reason you're not happy I'm your **** your tuberose. You're my shock, my half cooked omelette You're my biscuit never picked You're my very painful fracture You're the fur ball cats have sicked. He's the one you should be courting He's the one that hides distaste He's the martyr, self inflicted He's the life that's gone to waste. She's the one that smiles at no-one She's the girl that lives alone She's the happy, carefree songbird She's the chocolate scoffing crone. Count your blessings maid of plenty Lucky that you've never cared Comatose to squires, to gentry That beating lump you've never shared.
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Dec 13, 2019
Dec 13, 2019 at 12:50 PM UTC
Valiant Times
The stickiness of the gel That never leaves your fingers The smell that forever lingers The distaste that stays at the back of your mouth. It could be annoying to have But inevitable to give.
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Jan 4, 2019
Jan 4, 2019 at 1:31 PM UTC
Gel
i'm      sorry          that              every                      word,                               i                                 write                                       bleeds                                                in                                                   dark                                                           ink...                                                    scratches                                               on                                             to                                      your                               skin,                          like                    pen                 on        rough   papers...            i'm                 sorry                          if                               i                                      don't                                               use                                                        my                                                         words,                                                     the                                               way                                      it                          should           be       when i write              you.
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Sep 19, 2018
Sep 19, 2018 at 9:46 AM UTC
i'm sorry if i write poems
i'm      sorry          that              every                      word,                               i                                 write                                       bleeds                                                in                                                   dark                                                           ink...                                                    scratches                                               on                                             to                                      your                               skin,                          like                    pen                 on        rough   papers...            i'm                 sorry                          if                               i                                      don't                                               use                                                        my                                                         words,                                                     the                                               way                                      it                          should           be       when i write              you.
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38
This is a cry of a person dissatisfied the faint feeling of a blank stare stating: Here I look upon the world, to which I am dreadfully attached I regret to love it so much as I cling on harshly, gaping; it is full of distaste and resentment. I tried to see everything in it, I have lived and saw life without grace and sin devours envy controls hate and men die holding their pride and selfishness corrupted the soul. It is without a doubt that I - who swore to be free of the earth withheld of freedom and deemed memory a clean slate again.
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Oct 8, 2017
Oct 8, 2017 at 10:17 AM UTC
Clean slate
The more you try to tell me What is right And what is wrong, What I should do And what I should not, The more you make me Want to face-plant Into a wood chipper. And yet, You continue to speak.
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Oct 28, 2016
Oct 28, 2016 at 9:39 PM UTC
You Make Me
The **** is so thick It is impossible to clean now It has caked onto the walls Sickening as it is When you see it you close your eyes Still it is there and you now know You know as soon as you follow Unfollow It's now in your brain Because without taste It was in your face
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Oct 22, 2015
Oct 22, 2015 at 1:16 AM UTC
In your face
My voice explodes from within my soul, hatred stemming from my broken heart, blinded by smoke from your heart of coal, wondering how we tore apart. While fire emanated from our love, the heat became too hot to handle, I should wear a glove when holding you, but my insatiable hunger I cannot resist. You are the dinner I have slaved for, a great idea, soon to be a chore. Like a child biting a hot meal, only to be reprimanded by mother, a kiss from you I will steal, even if the smoke does smother.
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Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 11:22 PM UTC
Hot
Glimpsed of innocence Casually met Words from strangers A lot in common Wine and smiles Unsolicited lies Cool distaste Remnants of disrespect Cracks in the ice The inevitable rift Fragmented faces The corrosion of moments.
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Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 12:24 AM UTC
Conviviality