I don’t believe the shape of your lips,
the way they move when you tell me this:
I want to help you because I care,
I want you to succeed.
I want for you, what you need.
I can’t bear to look through your beady eyes.
The way they blink
and give me glimpses into your
black heart.
The way you masterfully play the part
as someone who lives, someone who loves
someone who can’t get enough:
money, attention, and…
