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Rated: E · Poetry · Dark · #1837143
One slice of my cake
I may look like one person,

But in actual fact I'm twins,

There's a war raging on inside of me,

And you'd better hope my good side wins,



Don't get in between me,

Cos I'm like a murderer with a vision,

I use sheer stuborness for a blunt instrument,

And sarcasm for incision



I can believe in nothing instantly,

Like snapping awake from a sleep,

I'll let slip my snarling word hounds

On your bleating, emotional sheep



My tongue will tear down your defences,

Right to the very last brick,

I'll enjoy making you look like a cockroach,

And I'll do it in public



Napalm for my pillow,

A mattress of broken glass from head to feet,

Ice forms all around me...

As I sleep beneath my asbestos sheet



Fear breeds hate is true,

My groove, it fits that slot,

I just cling for fear of falling

Cos i think its all I got.............

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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1837143-Thats-The-Neighbourhood-Gone