Bullshit

1.

I hold her hand as she talks about him,

She tells me how he made love to her.

I sniff her hair, but I smell his sweat;

Even her scent proclaims that she’s owned by him.

We kiss and she caresses my cheek,

I know she misses his hard stubble.

She likes it rough.

She promises me that she has forgotten him,

But then, when I take her in my arms,

She asks me if he’ll come back to her.

And then, in a soft, low whisper, I say

SHUT THE FUCK UP!

2.

He is with his new girl, his hand on her waist.

He smiles — proud at his achievement.

He has to realise that he’s just another man-whore.

He shows her off like a stolen diamond ring,

He should know that he’s just her trophy prostitute.

He asks me if I think if he’s popular,

And then, in a voice firm and harsh, I say

SHUT THE FUCK UP!

3.

I find him sitting amidst a crowd,

He says that he feels lonely.

He will have to take of his red blindfold.

He shows the way to those who come to him;

It’s time that he follows the path that he knows is his.

The scarlet wounds on his feet bleed,

He should stop sprinting when he needs to walk.

His pencil lays broken on the table,

He asks me if he’s a bad writer

And then, in a loud, ferocious roar, I say

SHUT THE FUCK UP!

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