S/He: The Urban Hypocrites

Comedy and tragedyHe is an addict

He lies compulsively

He laughs during the day,

Goes home to find himself dating the cold computer.

His king bed full of sweat,

His sweaters, unwashed, unclean.

Sink full of dishes.

He cooks

Who will pour the dish detergent for him when he turns around?

His mouth opens, but no dark chocolate put in by that soft little hand.

I hate you for dominating my mind.

She is broken

She ruminates obsessively

She flaunts for all to see,

Walks home to see herself dancing to a lonely shadow.

Her place lacking of light,

Her umbrella, new, dry.

She showers

Who will greet her with a warm towel when she steps out?

Her lips part, but no traces of beer to fill her with that warm moist tongue.

I love you for killing me softly.

She writes, he writes

He sang, she sings

He plays the guitar, she plays the flute

She draws, he drew

She dances for no one

He works for himself

Two souls

One story

Two fakers

The rain pours on.

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