Poezja

You spew your vengence at me; to me
Like a wild asp, winding around the wicked vine
Did I not give you life
And bring breath to your ticker tape world
I see bits and pieces of your father seething out of your mouth.
SO angry; SO foul
You are so sad and you make me your victim
So skilled at making me your mark
I am your craft, your rendition of pain
Wind down the road to nowhere
We all have our secrets, but yours are not sweet, they kill
Like your fathers did; You called me a whore, the ultimate streetwalker, a dollar and a dime
You stab me like a double edged sword
You were a baby once, I touched your cheek to mine
Now I feel the singe, Do you hate me, do you wish me dead
I feel the coldness in your voice
I surmise your intentions
I  lie down and surrender