Final Statement.

And yet I sit in constant fear of what might happen next

I mean yes you were simply vexed at the time of your sending that hex

but

perhaps you never realized the pain that I gained every time you refrained from calling my name

Bitch

I can be one and yet every time I feel the pain of your glare I dare, to ask myself to prepare for a fist to dislocate my hair

Shutup

I don’t know what to do with these slamming doors

stomped upon floors and silent, cold airs

The anger in a movement

the flicker of hate

am I bait? or the catch of the day

Do I bring you rose’s

or simply the cold gray of skies

left without the suns enterprise of making glad

all that is had

I don’t know what to say to you

and so my words come out confused

looking for purchase in every syllable

backtracking at each conjunction

hiding in verbs, perhaps a noun to describe myself

you won’t have so long to run

I’ll become a pun at the end of a bad joke

and whistful thought

drowned out by a shot of cognac

and..

I guess

that’s that

in fact….

I detract this statement.

~AmaRose

 

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