Pink bubbles in the bathtub.
Candles glistening in the dark.
Radio playing only classical.
Skimming through a magazine.
Polishing my nails pastle blue as I do.
Can't be bothered to pick up the telephone.
Don't want to hear you call.
Don't want to see you beg at my door.
I've moved on.
I'm busy bathing in your blood.
So don't think you have a right to bother me now.
I made sure you suffered through all of it, just as you did to me.
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I tried to make a happy, in my lane, kind of poem... I accidentally turned it into a revenge murder poem. Still works as an unbothered, in my lane, kind of poem though... I think?
YOU ARE READING
Life Beneath The Words At Play
PoetryMy poetry is only to fill blank pages. You decide how to color it in. That meaning, you can interpret the poems the way you want. I only put the words together, and you decide the rest :) Yet another poem dump for my unorganized mess that is my poe...