I don't like your little games,
your mental agility to devise a farce,
the role of fool that you made us believe.
I almost believe it, your jealousy gave you away,
you made yourself believe superior until you screwed up karma,
when you were left alone because no one wanted to see you.
Evil tongues spoke of you, and you of them,
narcissistic prejudices of a brat without values,
one after another, your lies became balls,
until your poison infected you and the roles changed.
Manipulative, liar of corrosive promises,
interest in what you want, because when it doesn't interest you, you don't come anymore,
bipedal tongue, double like snakes,
selfish good plans accompanied by lies.
Viper with scaly skin,
without letting you eat when you were hungry,
careless narcissist, you climbed around the bush,
you squeezed the jugular, suffocating bad blood.
Poison in your attitude, toxic personality,
odd year in your life, without stopping using your partners,
sour taste in regards to your reality,
You don't listen to your close ones because you don't face what awaits you.
I warn you, that I also participate in the game,
You slip without a trace, but I leave a mark
because if you take my bow, you burn with fire,
and it is of little use that you make yourself look like a Currant.
Red berries on the back, purple in the right hand,
reserving the best for you, poison for whom the hand offers you
You made flowers as if it were all part of your invention,
maraleja that fucks you, the best part of the story.
YOU ARE READING
MASOCHISM.
ŞiirThis is a story told after a long time, a late revenge, revealing my version and the truth of what happened. Maybe it's masochism, or a simple pain addiction? Co-Written by Isabel Climent Martinez.
