She’d like to think she’s the destroyer, with bitch at her fingertips and blood on her hands. I’ve cowered, hidden and hurled myself towards the ground in fear that she’ll find me yet again. In avoidance, of avoiding, contracting an S.T.I or being instilled as a drug crazed, glazed over, easy target in the eyes of men.
The Slut VS The Pacifist
The Narcissist VS The Heartbroken
a fight worth witnessing.
I’m screaming at the top of my lungs, “CUNT” but she can hardly hear me; I’m buried beneath the bullshit. I dug my grave, but I’m refusing to lie without cramming my fits between her lips.
Shutting her mouth once and for all with one tender movement.
One giant metaphor for a fight with a whore.
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