All over his page, so all over all theirs.

Smut. 

Yet no one called him out, nor did any suggest that it was unseemly, 

Disturbed, 

And that exposed them all for what they were… 

Including her. 

She who would not look, 

The hypocrisy alive and crawling all over her, like vermin. 

Was he the one she’d chosen, and, so, she would never allow herself to see his disease, 

Plastered all over for everyone to witness? 

Would it not spark her to look up the others, 

To see the depravity of the underaged ads? 

Was she that devoid of morality?

Was she fucking one who sickly saw her as a child? 

Or had she chosen another, 

One just as bad, but hidden from view,

Another from the hometown?

One who had ordered her into isolation, away from everyone else, so she could not see, 

And she stood blind? Stupid. 

Her cries of horror and disdain for the one who’d loved her now lay barren at her feet, a liar sure, 

A twisted sociopath, just like them. 

She liked them dirty, morally corrupt, criminal,

As long as they had money and a past in common.