goulgirls
You think you’re a saint,
Much too free to admit that others may put the wind in your lungs.
Your so oblivious it’s frightfull
You complain and caw when a drop of blood is taken from you
And eye for an eye…
Yet you are too far up your own cavities to remember all the pints of blood you took from me.
I heard you wine and howl,
Stitching over the wound won’t make it vanish…I know it had hurt.
Search within your halls of your fancy factory and SEE
SEE your own contradiction, your own poisoning of your high self.
SEE how you deny all at every cost,
To be inspired by another is beautiful, but stop fooling yourself.
You push away any option to swallow your pride and admit your influence from another, you can’t help it, and maybe, just maybe .. You despise it?
You will excuse every reason, every dot, every speck and every line until your face is blotted black and blue.
I’m tired of all your excuses.
You hurt when the game was on you,
But you didn’t learn from your hurt enough to see the point.
The message escaped you.
And this is what this is about.
And now I laugh as I see you judge all those around you…
Never pointing the skeletal hand at yourself. Never looking within your own flesh.
You think the popular, loved creatures who have already established their being are just fakers or factories that don’t share any love with their own creations.
We just create in order for you to take, pick and use as you wish…
But maybe you’re the faker, hiding safe in your ignorance full of superficial sludge, and maybe just maybe if you didn’t try so hard, you could be brilliant on your own…. After all, you can’t stand on your own to take full credit when you didn’t do it alone.
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