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by Abigail Quigley 2 years ago in sad poetry

is sweet.

Did you ever consider

how the 'I hate you'

you hissed from gritted teeth

was nothing

but a mere pleasantary for me

unlucky for you

for I have hated myself

a hell of a lot longer.

Your lost love

had me finding gratification

in animal print and ugly shoes

distasteful tote bags

and an often observer

of the evening news.

I had become a woman

of character and maturity

one who saw purity

in men

with white collars

in men

with distinction and ambition.

A woman who knew flowers

were nothing more

than a pressurised gesture

a transparent lie to me

when you left wilted roses

on the doorstep of number 8

a shitty apology

an hour too late.

The rope stopped swinging.

The chair lay on its side.

sad poetry

Abigail Quigley

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Abigail Quigley
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