My Misanthropist

June 18, 2011
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The throes of love,
Of disillusionment
I tricked you, and you,
Couldn’t even see?
The face of a forger
This celluloid dream

Look at the rose in your hand
Is it crimson or red?
I’m sure it’s dying
I’m sure it’s already dead
Throw it high, into the wind
Let it fly, let it sing
Sun-kissed, in denial
If only for a while

O the lists made of love!
Of blatant paranoia
I missed you, and you,
Missed what was me.
I’m disgraced-
Of your grandeur, your feast
Your tactless, bitter, search
For world peace
And of your lessons
Your lessons, the least

I’m unmasked,
Torn apart and fresh
The apple of your eye, a lie
You didn’t see?
The dead flesh,
The fruitless seed
That this,
This is really me

Look at me now
This thoughtless, mislead thug
I’m your a puppy-dog with a gun
I’m reckless, on the run
Lock up your daughters
Listen to your sons, my misery-
Has officially begun

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