You

Every time you speak, all that comes from your mouth is venom. Degrading and humiliating to all who share themselves to you. All that’s left is a ghost that has replaced the old you. You. You are a wicked rose, beautiful until you get pricked by your thorns. Every time you speak to me I feel the room swallowing me whole. Gasping for air. Gasping to grasp words to fire back at you like a war. You took your aim and shot me for the last time.