“Promisee”

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The moment I do myself proud 

The next I feel crest-fallen.  

Thrice did I rake over old coals 

And found hurt many a pretty souls.  

It kills me apart …as those achy breaky hearts 

To whom my words were arrows and darts. 

I repent I perpetrated many atrocities 

Until the hell freezes over I’ll murder no promisee.