I trust you I hold you but you lie to my face.
You cut my skin from my bones.

The bleeding in my heart drips down to my toes.
The black rose, dies, dries, burns.
The seed of life withers in pain.

My eyes darken as deceit blinds me.
My tongue chastised by hate.
My soul entwined in wires.

The dirty dealings of cunning deceit.
Double-crossed by the trickster.
The cunning dissemblance, the sell out-of-body.

The sharp stab in the back.

By Stuart Otway-Smith Registered & Protected

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