I still haven’t been able to convalesce.
Since you left, everything was left a mess.
In my pain you were once my astringent,
But now that you left, I’ve become malignant.
Agonizing, my wounds fester.
My mind, imprisoned by a fetter.
Shall I ever find tranquility?
Or will I die from my fragility?
To make matters worse, I dwell with hostility,
Like a violent war, I often lack humility.
Wretched, torn, displaced,
Is how I spend my end of days,
waiting, impatient for your abjection,
Dejected, displaced, in exaggeration,
So that you can finally feel my virulence,
As a trophy for your downright insolence.


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