Sometimes I picture you dead.
If you were dead you'd be just another wasted carcass.
I wouldn't be unwillingly subjected to hearing your giggle.
Your false giggle.
The one given when trying to attract a suitor.
Your amplified groans.
Only heard when others are jolly.
Your horrific sighs.
Sometimes I even think we house a ghost.
These headphones muffle sounds but they remain unextinguished.
Bringing up your pain when talking about school.
Were we talking about a hernia?
Cutting down our blossoms and placing your weeds.
It's easier to hate something dead.
This one is an old one. Adding it from my notes on facebook.
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