To My Face
You can't say anything to my face,
because of your rampant lies,
it doesn't matter the time or place,
or even the number of tries.
You deceived me and I'm paying the price,
as I'm writhing in a pit of despair,
feeling the pain with every slice,
and you don't even seem to care.
You couldn't say it to my face when I was alive,
so why should you bother when I'm dead?
I was waiting for consummation to arrive,
but I killed myself over what you said.
Comments on this poem/writing:
|KitKatrina (18.104.22.168) -- Friday, December 19 2003, 09:51 pm|
This was a very powerful poem, and I loved it. It seems no one likes to say things to your face when you are able to hear them, but if you're gone, that's when they like to share. It doesn't make sense. Good poem...
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