get to the point

An arachnophobic look said
With nails drawn deep into her knees
Old man what has entered your head?
Rather you do not tell me please

I want not your conversation
Nor your interest in my day
Come quick to the realisation
To you I have nothing to say

The smell of death burns my nostrils
Stings my eyes and makes them bloodshot
The rot set in gives me the chills
On my landscape you are a blot

Far more relaxed and happy here
To all my friends I save a smile
The people whom I hold so dear
Away from you I run a mile

Fair, sweet flower, hint I can take

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