well, you've got what you wanted, you've got me out of your place. I knew you didn't love me, but I didn't think it was hate. There's a burning feeling, in my chest, and my throat. My skin feels like it's peeling, from me like a cheap coat. I knew it wasn't love, I didn't think it was hate. You peeled me off like gloves, I had no clue it was too late. I knew it wasn't love, never guessed it was hate, when push comes to shove, I was always too late. So now you've got what you wanted, me out of your place. I never thought that you loved me, I should've known it was hate.
Ian Lewis Copestick is a 46 year old writer (I prefer that term to poet ) from Stoke on Trent, England. I spend most of my life sitting, thinking then sometimes writing. I have been published in Anti Heroin Chic, the Dope Fiend Daily, Outlaw Poetry, Synchronized Chaos, the Rye Whiskey Review, Medusa's Kitchen and Horror Sleaze Trash.
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