I Write Poetry

My language is loaded, too hard to swallow even with a bit of water. You try to digest it none the less and find yourself choking on each truth I’ve told. I was raised by narcissists. Annoyed by their ability to seem benign to others I learned their traits, and you, my dear are no exception. I was lost endlessly in your shroud of lies, but it was brief and died as quickly as my love. I refuse to be broken again especially by someone as cancerous as you.