Halfe-Screwede.

You were beautifully depressing,
And not one bit pleasing
To my senses; there were many of
The type before but you were
Different, like flowers on a murder scene,
Or a bubble in a dream— where it would make it feel real
And I love how beautifully depressing you are
And should you become
The death of me, I’ll
Gladly give up
Fairness.