The sight of me tastes sour on your lips,
And it rips open all the scars I left,
It bruises your fingertips.
Still, you cannot look away for a second.
I reckon betrayal hurts more
When delivered with a dull weapon.
My smile, it bites like a poisonous snake.
Do not fake the niceties, no.
Key my car, spit right on my cake.
The way I was never yours chokes you,
And you know it is getting close,
It is painting your face blue.
Your spite wins as usual, so you beat on,
You choose wrong, keep hurting
Until the wind becomes too strong.
Yet, the sight of me still tastes like blood,
It comes like flood, then fades,
Drowning you in the mud.
-Jackie
The Daily Writing of Jackie Wright 