the price.
she says less.
i say
more.
she holds her ground,
i hold mine.
she wants me
to do the work,
but i'm not so certain
anymore.
she wants it done
tomorrow,
i tell her in three weeks
from now.
i'm no longer
jumping through
hoops
because she has
big hair,
a big job,
a mercedes and
fake boobs.
i'm picking the plums
these days
and she's
rotting fruit.
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