She’s
a slimy blob dragging herself through the sewers,
a burning heat, suffocating you like a muddy swamp,
a putrid orchid, chocking the life out of you with its stench,
an unravelled sweater, pierced by moths, the picture of unkempt,
a medical cabinet, filled with lethal potions that you’d better keep locked,
a tod that had its legs cut off at birth, dissected in the lab of a mad scientist,
grey-greenish as a disembowelled corpse left to be devoured by the savage elements.
She’s the bane of my existence and I’ve despised her from the second that we’ve met.
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Ticăloasa
Ea e
o mâzgă lipicioas