A back-stabbing knife.
You hope and wish and expect,
Smile and dream and get your heart-broken,
and it’s okay.
Hope is a camp-fire,
Wishes a Christmas tree,
And expectations a back-stabbing knife.
You call the cuts battle scars,
A funny name for self-harm.
You smile as blood trickles down your back,
But swear to never expect again.
An exaggerated lie.
Expectations are like cigarettes,
You’re addicted but,
Slowly sucking the life out of you
Expectations are like a cheese-trap.
Promised rewards and pain.
Jerry was careful with it,
Maybe you should be too.
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