Your house was a brothel
and all had keys, and out
you how many times they wanted,
and bars, and those voices ,
the sound of your footsteps
my peace collapsed,
and fire, and ice
empty sheets,
were what you wanted, you were too
females.
so many want to go, so many guilty
so many victims unwittingly
without realizing it.
Butterflies
fleeing to another stomach
horror stories,
after-dinner smoke
us,
distortion
nights inert
cloudy morning,
Deja Vu exhausting, and another page
I boot,
for retormarme.
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