Poetry

To the love-whore

Don’t think for a second I don’t know what you are –

You who are obsessed with taking scraps and left-overs, and whatever that belongs to others.

You who looked for love and took it in its basest form when love was lost on you.

You who gained the soulless pleasure of love through the bitter ruins of others’.

I know very well the likes of you,

I can see your scent you even when you dress yourself in the prettiest of diamonds.

And I recognize your latest desperate, disgraceful move to invade, yet again, what is mine and infiltrate my turf.

But I will not put up a fight, you can take whatever was once mine.

For now it is clear , you can only take whatever I leave behind.

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