You left your lipstick, on my cigarette,
my dirty hands on your flowered dress.
The only reason on your face I confess,
is to do away with all this bloody mess.
Stabbed a dear back, stabbed back dear!

Why are all your veins, flowing with rage?
Why is your tale scribbled on a dark page? 
Why are you tossed around, by this wind?
You're meant to rule over these tornadoes!
Honestly, this has never been your storm!

Go ahead head home, to where you belong,
Get out of my head, I've been hurt for long!
Let me sing a song, the sweet freedom song.
I believe that I'll find right, from this wrong.
Promise me that, if we part, you'll be strong.

"Honest Confessions"
Drew Poetry
~Andy Mwalasha


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