People are useless in the moonlight.

This swagger is mine and so offensive to you.

That I own myself, thought and skin, word and deed,

Abrades all your glass surfaces.

You never said the actual words.

Liar.

Whore.

Sick.

Yet, everything you did say resulted in that familiar

Hollow churning in my guts.

Your judgment hung like choking vines

Draping my body, camouflaging our history.

It was never a matter of concern, only ownership.

I was a thing to fill until I was full.

The very things you said you loved

Became blades lodged in your throat.

You want badly to spit the taste of me,

So bitter, so wrong.

To tell me in chosen words that

I am a mistake you made in the dark.

Suff3

 

 

 

 

 

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~ by Athena on February 13, 2018.

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