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i think she thinks we are still friends
But i can feel the hate oozing like vanilla ice cream, dripping from her parted lips
i can see right through her,
as one sees through a clear plastic tupperware
She is all tucked up and placed in a cold, rigid fridge.
Her thoughts leftovers of mine.
Always hungry for a new scene,
but still scarfs down goodies from the old ones.
She chokes inwardly on the bile in her throat.
Bile that rises like bread, in an oven of anger, every time her eyes meet mine
All her secrets packaged and on a truck to nowhere
All her hopes saran wrapped and sugar coated
that not even a butchers knife can penetrate them
She is a wall of unbreakable ice
that no matter how hot i turn up the flame
she never melts.