Pretty Mouth
My anger for you rises to the surface,
revealing tender veins and nerves.
My eyes are polluted,
and my soul is stained.
But on I stand
for your entertainment.
Sometimes I wonder,
if you will loosen the chains
and the cuffs around my battered wrists.
The heat from your breath stings me,
and electric pulses of anxiety jolt through the air.
You are a beast
the way you chuckle and
toast to those who aren't there.
Little do you know that
You are all alone in your sick little game.
As you make a fool of me, and yourself.
By: Brandi Deacon
2010
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