storm in a tea cup

served in chipped china made from the very bones you bury with your words. snuffing out life. love. fear and doubt and betrayal and angst. sweetened liquid gold sipped then swallowed. beautiful belly swollen with the grotesque contents of your deceit. and yet, all i think of is how this could not possibly be your making … until the cruel but warm trickle of your blatant disregard spills on my face. it’s true. this is you.

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