"Better Than Perfect"

It's not below me

Below me

Stirs a certain

Strong fragrance

I'm in the mood for

A vine of sentimental fruit

Dangling aimlessly

Jealously I have not

Just brimming to the rim

With a lovely kind of hatred

Oh, one that would burn

The skin off those nameless assholes

A fucking waste, smile

What a lovely afternoon in hell

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