Today's poetry challenge thing is to write a cinquain on a topic of my choice. I had to look up a conquain, because I couldn't remember if that meant five lines or five stanzas. Oops.
I don't care about your pretty apologies
Or how well you can wind words to your bidding.
It remains that the words you've used before--
The ones that drove me to the brink of extinction--
Overrule whatever you could possibly have to say now.
This has been another installment of Miranda being an angsty teenager.
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