Her eyes glare at me a blueness
That speaks of beauty without depth,
Lovers? She has many in vengefulness
That fulfills itself with lust unkempt.
She has knowledge and polysyllabic words,
But hate and envy show her to be all but wrecked.
She lies to herself and has herds
Of justifications for her vengefulness unchecked.
The things she nay understands she leaves named;
She names her hate the fault of others
And jealousy of her mother shared
Is left lingering under her lustful covers.

With all her hate and weakness of being,
I cannot blame her, no, not for a thing