altercation within the membranes of her infatuation
she lies there awake in the dark, all alone
and spits rhymes like hatred only she'd own
back at society, keep throwing those stones
the object of her stream of consciousness
draped in a cloud of secrecy & alteration
lips that move in rooms that bounce sound like
audible fornication
pregnant and barefoot in the corners of her mind
drunken & high off of infatuation's ability to defy
this is where the beginning of the end lies
ducts dried from years of dirty tears she cries
deep gutters become grooves in the space between
and she stands carrying the weight of just one more
speaking in egyptian hieroglyphics to verbally fuck what you mean
slamming shut any possibility of communication's doors
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