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Warning Signs

Updated on July 1, 2014

He liked feet.
That should have been my
first warning sign.
The second
was his stupid
boxy teeth
that seemed way too
small
for his incredibly large head.
The third
were his crooked
fingers
that never really
fit correctly in mine.
He laughed
when he kissed me.
That was the
fourth.
The fifth,
and maybe the worst,
was that he
never stopped
unless I pryed
his crooked little fingers
away.
All the signs.
All the warnings.
Ignored messages.
Subtle winks
that meant more than what
he let on.
The mocking.
The demanding wants and needs.
The grape smoke.
I should
have
seen
it
coming.
But the biggest
sign of all
was probably
the way
his eyes,
splashed with
liquid gold,
looked right
through me.
Because I was
only an
object
of
desire.
I was
the chase.
I should
have
seen
it
coming.

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