The bitch borrowed money for reasons she failed to list.
But we saw her with her nails done!
Shellac, she hash-tagged the life out of, even managing to upload a short video explaining her ‘fit,’ for today’s LET’S VALIDATE MELLISA LOOK!
But then that second text came through:
Hope you’re good?
I was wondering if you could lend me £60, please?
I have no food left and I need to get some bits in for my kids.
I know I’ve already borrowed £30 but I can give it all back next Friday when I get paid.
The bitch asked for more money, this time stating its for food for her kids. She has two.
But her latest post shows she’s spending coins in Armani.
Armani life, she hash-tagged with 29 Armani related tags that followed. A new purse was purchased, I guess that was to store borrowed money inside.
I read the message.
I logged onto Just Eat and ordered a waffle with syrup and vanilla ice-cream
The mom called her daughter a bitch.
She spat on her and accused her of sleeping with her best friend and another.
The mom punched her daughter multiple times in the head. She stuffed her mouth with cotton and wished her dead.
The mom choked her daughter and labelled her ugly. She felt that being dark was ugly. If you ain’t light then you ain’t right! Right?
The mom showered her daughter with negative thoughts. She always told her that she is nothing and will always be nothing.
The mom left marks on her daughter. Other moms agreed with the parts she shared with them. They spoke louder so the daughter could hear how disappointed they were with how she ‘treated,’ her mother.
The mom played the victim when confronted with facts.
The mom made sobbing noises on the phone to her friends. But her eyes remained tearless.
The mom blamed the daughter for everything bad in her life.
The daughter prayed and prayed and prayed.
Her eyes are so puffy from all the crying.
The mom lied and cried and lied some more. Her stories spread like a virus.
Maybe you eat the chicken raw if the chicken is what you like.
Maybe I cut the phone because I hate social connections.
Maybe you drink out of a larger cup because you’re greedy and don’t give a fuck that there’s nothing left for the rest of us.
Maybe I raise my eyebrows at you, for hoarding your shit. I hate it. All of it.
Maybe you apologise for being a dick and then wank yourself with an old sock.
Maybe, I’m just overthinking the possibilities? I mean, didn’t you say you were vegan?
Our love began back when the days were long, and hate was short-lived.
My kisses gave you life.
You were dying from being broken down, by a dazzling fraudster. Bitch bred and fled with many bricks.
My kisses opened your mind to my amazing inoculations.
You suck on my lips like you know where to find my sweet elixir. I giggle, I’m ticklish.
I’m cheesy as fuck, but I’m everything.
I’m our sky.
I’m our clouds.
I’m our rain.
I am an abundant quantity of oxygen.
You inhale my presence deeply.
I hold a plethora of bad omens.
You exhale love, each special moment.
At the 96th hour, I let go.
You cry as warmth increases to a high wave of heat.
Sorry, not sorry.
I have no time for your ignorance.
I have no patience for your questions.
Babe, you’re a damn good kisser.
But I can’t muster the energy to understand your deceit.
Talkin’ bout, you want more and more from my half of this partnership. But you gave me unread messages, ignored phone calls and divided time, love and appreciation.
Your heart is beating faster and faster, beating your insides and showing your nonsense out.
I can hear the angels calling you.
Only, the deal I made with Lucifer, meant that as your heart pounds you to death, your soul will be absorbed by nothing and no one.
It’ll flow around our world aimlessly and unseen.
I have no sympathy for you personally.
I am everything and everything is Unique.
Skim a bit of skin off her back.
That bitch has got an attitude problem.
Once my hair fell way past my shoulders.
I never used to think much of it.
One night I stayed over at my aunt’s house.
One night she cut my hair down to 2 inches.
The next morning, she braided it in brown hair extensions and said nothing.
A few weeks later I discovered my hair had been cut.
In my thoughts, I skin her scalp back.
I cut off her forefinger and middle finger.
I clip the corners of her eyes, with a pair of toe scissors.
I sew brown extensions into her scalp and saturate it with oils.
One afternoon I saw her.
One afternoon I heard her horrible voice.
One afternoon I played the fiddle and watched her fall hard.
Her husband had cheated on her and took her money.
Her husband came back to her house.
Today my hair falls past my shoulders.
Today I type and I write my truth.
Today her sins caught up with her and she swirls around endlessly in a deep pool of salt.
Her eyes are burning, and her tongue has fizzled away.
My word, she’s a waste of life.
Once upon a time, a scruffy dog used to bark and bark and bark, all day long.
One night after tossing and turning in bed, the neighbour next door – the one that smiles at the dogs’ owners every day and has never expressed his annoyance about their cute little dog. Took some slices of ham out of his fridge and went quietly into his back garden.
The dog saw him and through the joy of familiarity, wagged his tail excitedly and watched carefully as this friendly man hopped over the fence with some slices of succulent, honey-glazed ham.
The neighbour tossed a slice and the little dog jumped up and caught it.
The neighbour tossed a second slice. Only this slice landed right by the neighbours left foot.
The cheerful (now quiet) but excited dog. Trotted over to the neighbour, and bent down to eat another tasty treat.
The neighbour knelt and looped a cable tie around the dog’s neck. At first, the dog yelped in horror, but seconds later the little squeals came to an untimely end. The neighbour cut the cable tie, picked up the limp dog and placed him gently into his kennel.
The neighbour hopped back over the fence. Back into his house, into the bathroom to wash his hands and then with a delightful smile across his face, he drifted off into a deep sleep.
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Interesting addition to the clothes I wear.
I add many things to this small, zipped, denim location.
Tissue, paracetamol, lip-balm, eye-drops, hand cream, lemon sherbet drops and a three page letter.
I wrote about 2020.
I transferred pain from my heart, to these pages, to my pocket.
I released everything. Yet, I keep memories folded and close by.
Maybe, they’ll wash away the deeper I stride into this scenic lake.
The only thing that matters is my birth.
With my breasts if you think they’ll help you become a better man.
With my body if you find peace at home.
With my mind if you need hope.
But never play with my heart.
I ain’t that.
I ain’t down with that.
I ain’t calling that.
I ain’t that.
You’re a piece of shit.
At my door in December.
I opened up and coughed on em’
I’m sitting in a BMW i8.
It’s black with electric blue around the wheels and the headlights.
The seats are leather and heated, my ass is warm.
I’m sipping a cup of hot-chocolate made with oat milk. Cows milk is for baby cows.
All windows are up, I hate the sounds of those grotty voices nearby.
Does it look like my car needs cleaning?
Only me and I’m stuck.
Is there ever traffic at 0333 hours?
I’m not moving.
Engulfed in thought processes.
Delinquent of 70% responsibilities.
I’m not a passenger.
I’m not a red light.
I’m not another car in a queue.
I’m not even there.