Maybe if I open your eyes,
And you see through mine.
Everything will make sense,
Except you won't listen.
I think we both really know,
Where your eyes go.
With motivations of the word intent,
No matter what I tell you instead.
Too bad we can't see eye to eye,
All you do is keep rubbing your thighs.
And I refuse to be lead astray,
By your best attempt at some foreplay.
The lust that you feel,
Is Leftover from past deals.
With all your best friends,
All of it done in my bed.
I can't finish a breath,
With your noxious aura intact.
So pack your bags and go out the door,
Call up one of your boys to take you home.
So I'll try to sleep alone,
As I contemplate a overdose.
I hope you take some satisfaction,
In knowing your ex-man cried to death.
YOU ARE READING
Who is He?
PoetryA look inside my tattered mind. All of these are original poems written by me in various moods of my life.
