and your rhyme's are tight...
the world will know...
cause she's read your stuff...
a thousand times...
when you didn't see.
The rub is this...
t'would be remiss...
to tell you less...
that jealousy's her soul.
She has no intent...
to let another's...
ear be bent...
and angers...
if you try.
At the pit of the gut...
you feel the grip...
of some vicious war...
in the dead eyed stare...
from the heart...
of a shit house whore...
Written by Bruce James Clyde
Art: Lady Lilith, by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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