It’s the age of constant distraction
Beauty defined by plastic fashion
Such savagery over the next caption
Going to extremes to prove an action
Hate on the menu for us to ration
One kiss you’ll learn he fakes the passion
His love is always on automation
An impeccable liar, the best in the nation
A list of broken souls should be confirmation of his vocation
He’s never been out of rotation
I hope death will be his next vacation
© Delia Ross. 2019
His love is like Russian Roulette
For all he’s had and still not found love yet
Under his reign I had many debts
The lost and wounded are his favorite pet’s
Losing you won’t give him any regrets
He’s already forgotten you I bet
His love was like Russian Roulette
It doesn’t matter if they are blond or brunette
He’s not interested in her silhouette
Once he’s hooked you he’ll enjoy a cigarette
Making them cry is his largest asset
The only way to go no contact is to move to Tibet
© Delia Ross. 2019
To dream a life of pleasure,
Reside a world of hell.
Demands partial reason,
Denies existence well.
A star so dimly lit,
Still reached the darkest soul.
And in her heart he bit,
Consumed it, left a hole.
© Delia Ross. 2010
