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Persephone May 2013
She looked so sweet but she had black eyes
That charming little smile was surprisingly sly
An innocent act she continued to play
There was never a rumor, for there was nothing to say
She constantly, craftily, stole the upper hand
Guilefully cunning, appearing offhand
Triumphant she was when her deception succeeded
Prancing away from the hate that she seeded
Her friends were like puppets, their fate she controlled
A friend to no end, when she spoke she cajoled
She listened wide-eyed, and blinked in surprise
She was begged to help, and begged to chastise
So she fixed the stories in her own way
Discarding the remnants, displayed to decay
Contented and sprightly she talked very lightly
So sweetly and sightly she left ever brightly.

And now you know of the girl with black eyes
With that charming smile that's ever so sly
So don't be fooled by her false disposition
Otherwise, you will find
                                      yourself
                                                in a most
                                                            unfortunate
                                                                           position.
I have not written anything in a very long time but I'm glad I finally got around to it again. This poem is not really based off of anyone, but I did just read a short story about a girl with black eyes who played with deception a lot. It was sort of fun to write, and thank you for reading!
Mitchell Mar 2018
Canned black beans
Line the brick walls
Underneath a tragic sun
Berating the bald heads
Of the cigar smoking dice throwers
Valuing nothing
But the smoke in their lungs
The fat ***** trucking by in their eyes
And the love for their kids
They work all day for
So they can study things they
Wouldn't even waste time trying to spell

Spinning guilefully in the corner
Of the repressed two bedroom apartment
Two grayed broken down dogs
One with a back left leg that's short
The second blind
Sit biting at each other's butts
Like Ouroboros
Screeching whenever one of their tooths
Would cross to deep
Into the skin

The tiles of the ceiling
Are browned from the dust
Whipping in from the wind
From outside
There was little anyone could do
Seeing there were no blinds,
No shutters, or windows.

Hooligans vagrant rocks
As well as being poor
Had a way of holding back repairs

— The End —