Eight Weeks Of Privilege No Time For Regret

Remove your hand from my throat

My heart is too secure for your insecurities

Your pathetic attempt to be mine and his has failed

But only by my words was I the victor

Now I killed this desire

And it quickly became distaste

Distaste for you (or what you have composed to be you)

So please, quit wasting my time

Spend more time on you

Because it may take a while to remove your foot from your big mouth

To the eye you are sweet

But to the soul you are sour

And I am no worse without you.