The voice comes
slicked with the
blue-green sheen of
oil,
You never
did mean much
to anyone,
they might have smiles
around you
but they're just
painted on.
I know it's not true,
don't lead me to think otherwise;
You're just a fraud with
half a heart on
her sleeve,
if they saw the black feathers
underneath the
white plumage
they would leave you
like she did.
They wouldn't,
they're not like her;
And yet you haven't changed:
still a burden,
still useless,
still so pathetic.
Please just
leave me alone;
But how can I
if I'm just a part
of you?
of you?
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