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The games you play: by me
The truth is that you're ran through.
You make me sick.
You're so unoriginal.
Same lines. Same script
different prey,
A new experiment i may say.
You're lame.
For once, I wish I could hurt you.
Be the reason for your pain.
So that you would feel at least an ounce of shame.
Someone ought to beat you at your own sick game.
YOU ARE READING
Poems of A Girl
PoetryCry it out then write it out just poems of a girl who loves to go through pain
