beauty renders more the way of death
when blind eyes turn to someone’s heart,
fashioned of cold stone.
you made sure i suffered
and left me alone.
beauty suffers more when it is misused
as something to flee in every second,
and calls the faithful, their doom.
you made sure to leave me
before i left the room.
wanderers say they don’t mind
when you mispronounce their name.
i do. it kills me little bits each day.
you do it just the same.
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