Silencing my them to whispers. Calling with so many desperate dropping heads.
I quiet all my screaming through all the stupid customers and self-righteous neighbors.
Until I'm alone to my writing. I paint my anger with solitudes and hand prints.
I'm bitter because you have made me so. Can you make me do something?
With those desirable lips and soft arms. Manipulation so pathetic that I break down under the hot water. Pulling my hair until that pain becomes more than the kind that is swallowing my insides through a straw. Sucking the breath from my lungs. Leaving nothing for me other than giving my eyes the gift to cry. Hostile words with unimaginable intentions.
Closing my eyes and thinking "I hate you. Get away from me."
But screw this pain because I miss you.
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