As The Tormentor Weeps

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As the tormentor weeps,

The flashing red river of rage

Deep inside the bowels of my heart,

They lose their meaning as they dry up


Oh, my tormentor's grief,

It's as real as the dawn-break of the morrow

And a part of me wonders, despite sympathy's hold,

Why was my sorrow as irrelevant as the dusk of today?

For she didn't bat an eyelid


The tormentor and her grief,

Every object in the universe,

Inanimate or otherwise, are to be blamed

While the cruel lady reaps what she sowed,

Nary a thought about what she has done


The tormentor and her ever-present sorrow

Give reasons anew for her agitation and abuse,

Tantrum and the blows dealt

Oh, her sorrow, it only spreads

And claims the joy of the reddest of hearts.

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