Friends
Who shall I call when things go south
The stench of hate reeks from their mouth
They true colours exposed
A shame to conceive
Behind the all the faithful deeds
Was a broken and shattered smile
Though it they deceive
And lure you like prey
A fish on a hook
On you they shall feast
When evening sun sets
It leaves you in despair
No different from a shadow
It left nothing to spare
The Real Hypnotic
(C) All Rights Reserved. Poem Submitted on 07/04/2019
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