Dessert

You don’t give a damn on how I feel,
on my holy inner wars.
You just want to make money or an impression.
You slice my heart like a dessert,
that is a masterpiece by Sylvia Weinstock,
and pitch it with your fake dashy fork.
So, guess what?!
The filling is not luscious.
And you think you’ve tried the very best of me,
my nightmares, pains and illusions, but...
F**k you
You couldn’t even hurt me,
Because I didn’t let you :)

Reviews

[jennifer little]

wow great poem great flow and wonderful job keep up the good work

[Chris]

There's HURT and then there IS hurt... I don't think you LET him but in a way he DID hurt you.

[Chris]

We need to be heard AND listened to...