Not in a good way.
It eases my pain to know you'll never win the battle with your demons,
many as they are.
I love the bones I am ready to break in two.
Still, to blow down your house and send you running, little pig,
would give me strange pleasure.
Sickness within my within
Growing inside like a lover's seed
Yet stale was it that loved.
The infection spreads like ink through water
Pure nevermore.
I must drive you out, damned spot,
Wash my hands of you,
Comb you out of my hair,
Flush you out of my system.
For, dearest Revenge is a dish
best served as cold as your blackened heart.
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