“B.S., I Luv You (Final Version) by Stewart Stafford In Black Widow's grip, senses denuded, Heathen preen in savage web deluded. Sweet nothings said tongue-in-cheek, Shaman's mask for deception's peek. Check blood bank, deposit paid! It's a sociopath's shameless, sick parade. In sycophant shade, carrion crows convene, Alibis caw over a cadaver's gangrene. Bury your drained victims, vampire creep, From oozing floorboards, vile secrets seep. Botox sessions cease, a purse frowned, Dredged up memories when you're around. Communing in brackish revelry, Bacchanal feast amidst hellfire devilry. Scapegoating slithers to slippery past, In tumbling runes, flaws naked cast. Choke on scabrous words yourself, Unison choir of your faces on the shelf. Self-worth void is your parasitic twin, Overdue promises, to flay second skin. Puppeteering your rigged game, Cracked compass of faux shame. Pompous pharisaic fête queen, A selective soundbite murder scene. Swimming lessons ended drowned, Regurgitated before it was downed. Hide your bodybag laundry away, Swallowed by a cesspit's wanton decay. I'll hold my hands up for all my wrongs, Not gleefully bamboozle you in songs. A wanted poster on your mirrored path, Eyelids glued to face your own wrath. © 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”
Quote by Stewart Stafford
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