Roch-hater: Money over Man

I hated her.
like a king I have sold my soul.
Not a moment of remorse
her skin was darker, her lips thicker than I thought.
was thirsty for her
your mouth is colder
my lunatic, my mad girl
I did not love her
nothing left but hopelessness.
I was tired of these people
you must be Bertha
you are to blame
disgust and rage.
Hide how I felt
push it away.
England, that is not love,
love money.

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