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Category: Writing and Poetry

Him.

I hate Him. 

He lurks in the shadows, waiting each night.

He thirsts over my picture, the fleeting sense of what we used to be,

He is the victim, the one who must be saved,

Oh poor, poor Norman,

his body lying there, 

beaten, bruised, and discarded.

Isn't that how he had always been treated? It's not his fault.

Norman is a boy; he could never earn the title as a man.

A boy full of malice, nothing but greed and lust, a boy who takes for himself,

Fronting a sweet smile, and kind gestures

A good liar, too.

I thought love could change him, that maybe,

He could change,

though I was ignorant, and with time the rose-colored Lense faltered.

His front faltered,

inevitably, he showed how truly putrid he was.



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٭*٭★𝒥𝑜𝓇𝒹𝓎𝓃.𝐸★٭*٭

٭*٭★𝒥𝑜𝓇𝒹𝓎𝓃.𝐸★٭*٭'s profile picture

How did you think of this? (i think this is awesome)


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It's based on someone I used to know, I suppose. Thank you very much, I appreciate it a lot! :)

by Newt; ; Report

isabella

isabella's profile picture

Wow i love this


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Thank you so much :)

by Newt; ; Report