For your satisfaction and attention,
I give you my heart.
It rips and stings as it's torn out from my throat. See the way it churns your stomach, makes you gasp and shudder. The thrill of it is exhilirating.
We can stay like this forever, if you would like to.
Yet there are others, still intact, which make you shudder and squeal and cry and bleed. Pouring out your heart, like I do.
But they do nothing.
The blood boils within those hearts which have been ripped out of their skin, as they pump their last bits of frail innocence they conjured up.
But the others do nothing.
The hearts see red.
And you see nothing.
YOU ARE READING
Dedication
PoetryThis is kind of a rant to all those who write very poorly written H scenes or love stories with thousands of mistakes in them, yet they have millions of people egging them on and telling them that they're amazing at writing. I am not being mean, and...
