In the mud.

He makes me ill
With his repetitive quips-
Its like he has spilled
All that he sips
Never caring if it is distilled
Or from someone elses lips;
He’d have killed
Till drips
Of blood
Did flips
And went thud-
Like whips
In the mud.
Cause with me
He swore he was witnessing
Some great horror
Like my sickening state of existence
Made him look for more,
Or less tense
Of a woman.

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