drenched in hate
the love is obscure
ironic is such fate
when love is shy and demure
tickled with animosity
love chuckles from afar
and despite its atrocity
love leaves its door ajar
greetings, fake hostility.
how are you, faux bête noire?
love is hiding next to tranquility
and hate knows exactly where you are.
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2 comments:
nice poet, you should post more up.
Poem* but your still a good poet, lol.
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