The page is my canvass.
I can fill it with joy and laughter,
Or make it cry of never ceasing pain.
I can also make it uplift you,
Like the sun on a warm summer day.
I can paint you a sad story,
Or tell you a tale of triumph.
But instead, I will make the page smell
I will make it reek of the burning bullshit
That boastfully buried us.
I will brand it with my innocence
And in a sense, show how I was the sacrifice
That satisfied your self serving needs.
I will make it bleed from the knife
That you plunged into my back.
In the end, there is no mercy.
I will make my words roar in infamy
So that the whole world knows
What the word "Whore" really means.
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