Were you drunk?

You’ve got the death mark on your arm
right next to that scar that you swear did no harm.
I hate it.
I love it.
It adds to your imperfect charm.

But you’re afraid of snakes
and so that awful tattoo breaks
my heart in pieces.
It never ceases
to bother me that you’re fake.

*Note: I’m not totally feeling this one, but I am determined to finish this Intro to Poetry course and to attempt all the assignments. I think it’s good to stretch yourself as a writer sometimes, even if you don’t love the results.

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