citrine

Poem
It seems that everything has gone wrong
the one thing I always wanted is now tainted with the overwhelming stanch of lust.
The feeble fetus grows day after day in the pit of her belly. The very thought of this bastard child makes me want to dig my wrist out with a bunt spoon.
You drive me to sinful thoughts of destruction.
You pain me with the illusion of our blissful love.
LIES!
Every word that has past over your artificial lips cuts me like razor wire.
You mock me with every juster you make, humiliate me with your very being and you give no reason.