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.
Copyright © Heather Nickels | Year Posted 2016
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