Run Its Course

You are an excuse of miscalculations.
The patience I once afforded you...
Has long run its course.
When I said I divorced myself from nonsense,
That included yours as well.
The adolescence of immaturity...
Is the core of the nightmarish hell.
And I do not condone heat on my peace of mind!
My need is to provide substance.
And your needs are just to abuse the idea!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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