Lethal Weapon

She sits atop her throne, spinning
A double-edged string of sharp remarks,
they flow in a train

Compartment after compartments of you are not good enough’s
and no one cares for you
and you’re lying to yourself, if you think you were important to them.

Slicing open ancient wounds that have barely healed

She sits atop her throne, never satiated, always hungry
feeding on my open wounds.

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