WARNING! This poem contains extremely coarse language.

Wilted Rose

We live worlds apart.
I no longer miss you now.
It happened so gradually
That I didn’t fucking notice.

In recent times
There has been no communication from you.
You direct messages via our children.
How fucked up is that?

It’s a recipe for disaster
And communication breakdown
Leaving the children
To wear your wrath.

At a social event you said “Hello”
Then avoided me like the plague.
I have seen you once
In the past 18 months.

You have not set foot in my door
In countless years.
Am I going to bite you?
Or do some evil fucking deed?

No response
To phone calls, emails or texts.
I have decided to give up
Instead of continuing like a cunt.

Perhaps if I could get you your stash
I would become a star.
I did it for you years ago
But not now, my dear.

It all seems a bit juvenile.

You live like a hermit because of it.
Still in your fucking dressing gown at 4pm.
From all reports
Your mood varies depending on your stash.

I refuse to get back in your fucking good books this way.

Stay in your fucking house.
And make a cunt of yourself in private
Put up your front for work
And keep leaving me alone.

I don’t need to be treated like a cunt by you.

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