Vile Kisses And Wilted Daisies

The hair on her head smells like a cherry tree,
Her kisses stain with velvet,
Her hands were as soft as freshly melted butter,
And smelt like peppermint tea,
She gave you a look that could end wars,
And make daisies grow.
But the daises had wilted,
The war had started again,
And her kisses tasted vile,
From the words that died on her lips,
She didn't think she could ever be so hurt,
Until she saw the way you looked at her.

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