Three
Chantene
Whitened all your words.
Misplaced all your dreams.
When it all came back, you
forgot what it meant.
Say it now.
Say what it should be.
Later, act as if it were
repeatedly sure.
Say sorry.
Don’t mean it because I do.
Nothing smothered bleeds
with a virus.
Stop the fucking bullshit.
Wipe off the fucking dirt.
That’s all you are anyway,
a bleeding virus-infected liar
covered with Hell’s dirt.
Welcome to my Hell.
