I feel like rhyming

She’ll never be a waif.
Her mind will never be safe.
She won’t let you save face,
Or bow out with grace.

God forbid, you think she’s a charity case.
In silence, there will be no space.

Waves and waves on days and dies

No forgiveness when she cries.
Only thoughts that conspire,
Ire upon ire.
And tho’ you’ll tire.

Oh, she demurs
The way she purrs
a thought occurs

There’s no life even when she screams “CUR”

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