Won’t Touch It

Witch, witch; hypocrite.
You want me but I don’t want it.

Scouring deep in the trash,
Life is but a flash.
Built unto the victims,
Soon I might become conniptions.

Is this really the end?
Or will I be at it again?
A day late and a buck short.
Period you wish to abort.
So tell me if I’m right or wrong?
Because so much dallying has gone on.
From the source of the poison,
To the wear on my kin.
I am confused so I must be losing.

Witch, witch; hypocrite.
You want me but I don’t want it.
Witch, witch; hypocrite.
You want me but I don’t want it.

Sanctioned I run from the prize.
Too late for me to realise.
Butchered corners are leaning in.
Possession is just a meaning.

Fabrication for your cause of ash.
Maligned and redundant cash.
Name and face are just a ruse.
Too busy digging to satisfy you.
Barter until you reach a shelf.
Then dump it into a vessel without health.
Extort like it is your chore.
Martyr, don’t you come and see;
What is here is missing baby.

Witch, witch; hypocrite.
You want me but I don’t want it.
Witch, witch; hypocrite.
You want me but I don’t want it.

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