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No, he didn't treat you like a friend,
Because he neither cared for you nor took care of you when your heart bled.
He didn't treat you like a lover,
Because, like a werewolf, he turned into human form only in the sunlight, and he escaped before you could see, in its entirety, the beast that you had spent the night with.
He didn't treat you like a God,
Because he neither feared you, nor respected you. He didn't even try to disprove your very being. It was not even worth it.
He was the one you called "home," honey I'm home, home sweet home,
A home with a welcome mat stained with reminders that you are not his home, but his backyard, an old tire swing just for fun.
You love thy neighbour, and forgive thy enemy, and bleed when his heart bleeds,
But he does not exist. Opposite to a god, he fears himself, and disrespects himself,
He is homeless, for fear of getting caught in the honey at the door, when he says, honey I'm home! Like a poor decaying bee unable to rid itself of its own nectar,
Drowning into non-existence,
Into the only place he can call home.


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