Her life was a discoball constructed from shards of shattered bliss
the blunt but self sharpening things
you bring into the bubble of bliss.
The knife you hold to your wrist
should I threaten to leave.
The new man you prefer to the last man
Who all forget to leave a forwarding address when they go
to
meet clandestinely in the pub
To discuss
the blunt but self sharpening things
You leave lying around
Amid shards of bliss.
Oh. And bullshit.
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