⊱⋅ ──────────── ⋅⊰
I looked into her eyes,
Brown, sad, nothing special,
Just like mine;
Still the cause of those cries,
These bandages and stitches,
And misery of each night.
Swore to gift her back everything,
No matter how bloody is the fight,
She's not winning this time.
I'm ready with blades and knives;
Her pain, my pleasure
I looked into the mirror again,
assertively mentioned,
time for revenge.⊱⋅ ──────────── ⋅⊰
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Poetryᴀ ᴄᴏʟʟᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏғ ᴍʏ ᴘᴏᴇᴍs. ©-cuddlee- ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ's ᴀ ɢɪʀʟ ᴡʜᴏ sᴍɪʟᴇs ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ, ᴛᴏ sʜᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ sʜᴇ ɪs ғɪɴᴇ. ᴀ ʙᴏʏ ᴡʜᴏ sᴜʀʀᴏᴜɴᴅs ʜɪᴍsᴇʟғ ᴡɪᴛʜ ғʀɪᴇɴᴅs ᴡɪsʜᴇs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜɪs ʟɪғᴇ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴇɴᴅ. Ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴏsᴇ ᴡʜᴏ sᴀʏ ᴛʜᴇʏ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴋɴᴇᴡ, ...