Devils, Demons, & Being Dante's son
You have no love for me!
As the concept of admiration
Seeps through teeth of a mouth at grin.
Just as an angry shade of red
Would color spotted grief
Upon the face of the cruelly
You only see hell beneath my broken skin
In which only you harmed.
And In a land with no slaves
I have, in the past, confiscated
My love and emotion
For the falsities of your thoughts
And the grimness of your reality.
Anguish, in opposition of a popular belief,
Connot be learned from,
But only avoided in every way possible.
When intentions are to displace positivity
And creativity with another's belief of correctness,
One can only believe in the gravity
Of slaves and last names.
Growing from another set of men is a necessity
That I've bestowed upon myself,
For it is my mind that desires a nurtured accompanying
That a refutable man and woman
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