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Image for the poem Rats

Rats

you had dreams
of being a heroin queen
but there's no such thing as
bottom feeder chic
oh how cool you thought you were
in your all black gypsy attire
mistakes made
believing you held any faith
 
time. didn't. heal. shit.
I. still. fucking. hate. you. bitch.

 
the coffee steams
just like it does on the streets
thats how I felt when you backstabbed me
guess the temptation of the knife
was too great
maybe you thought I was too wreak
and you just might have been right
 
time. didn't. heal. shit.
I. still. fucking. hate. you. bitch.

 
you remind me of rats
ones who indulge on dated cheese
just like when you bite on
anyone that is willing to give attention
well I'm prime steak baby
much too harsh for your palate
 
time. didn't. heal. shit.
I. still. fucking. hate. you. bitch.

 
I do wonder if you'll ever get the guts
to come knocking back on my door
something you should know first
the house is now occupied by
a big bad wolf
one who doesn't mind devouring
dirty old whores
Written by DevilsChild
Published
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