She writes hatred on her wrist and
brushes her teeth every day with the same
old, hatred in her head yet it never seems
to evaporate. It never fails to surface,
her cute little lips so vulgar and uncouth.
Appearance and smiles hide the true hatred we feel,
back-stabbed and betrayed in the end:
it's just a phase, it's just a phase- they say,
though I can't help thinking time would run out of
batteries and just die off, repeating like a
spoiled radio player fuzzed with incoherent silence.