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Kris van der Hurk

Thank goodness you have left.

I'm not sure I could stand another

moment listening to you preach. Your devine right

to complain had reached its limits,

and at first I was impressed, a little

excitement to my day is always welcome-

but I realise now you are simply

the human-form of an ice-cream wrapper

that got stuck to the bottom of the bin last summer,

lying there and refusing to let go of every problem you live for.

To judge you would imply I know nothing about you,

but in thirty seconds I suspect this game of charades

ended before it started.
Two ribbons made for five-year-olds

atop the head of a three year ill-recieved divorse.
Your haircut calls for the manager by megaphone,
And here stands greatness before me;
your most significant accomplishment was your ability to bear kids. 
If my eyes pleaded for another ounce of pain,

then I might just stare at you a little longer.

You spit words at me but they come as ashes

and now my ears are but a char.

And while freedom of  speech limits none,

I fear my right to exude in colour will only shade true temptation.

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