SOL: Fisticuffs

Her otherworldly sentimentality is abhorrent
I sit drenched in resentment as I watch rings
From past bearers glitter from knuckles
Eaten alive by obscurity, she toys with me without
Trying, her morals are loose but her manners divine
Idly amused as she espouses love in theory, perpetually
Falling short in practice, she equates my affections
To the amount of sheets wound around ankles
It makes me wonder how many she’s
Successfully had, pushing me away for the thrill of it
Her words are fists, they are featherweight
Aimed to kill, but they don’t mean much to me

3AM Thoughts // AKA “She Isn’t What I Want, But I’ll Be Damned If I Let Her Go.”

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