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Bleed Out (Hatred and The Host)

November 14, 2013

onehundredandtwelve

In a no hope town.
In a nope half.
Of a no hope country.
You inspired me to write.
A novel.
Knowing nothing would happen.
Whilst I sat on my hands.

And I’ve no time for the way.
You pervade every practicable part of my life.
I hate you.
And one day I’ll make you my wife.
Just to take you from him.
Cuckolded glimmer of the the things that we had.
He’ll raise my kids and they’ll call him Dad.
‘Cause he’s not gonna know.
All the things that you told me.
By now you’ll have learned better than that.
Scars you’ve earned but cannot show.
Scattered so solemn along the back of your hand.
Suffered in lieu.
A life I wrote but never had.
You’re not her.
But you’ll do.

I’m still here and you’re still there.
My hands still smell like your hair.
Another sucker.
Another slave.
Another soldier in the hive.
Another hatred.
Hanging from the ugly half of you.
And I’ve cried.
Good Lord, I’ve cried.
The awful amber.
In your eyes.
Empty charm.
Empty arms.
Brought to a head.
And bought the farm.
Honey, I’m here.
On my knees.
Before a God.
I’ll never please.
And you strive and strive and you strive.
There are no second acts in American lives.

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From → Poetry

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