I wish to feel the coarse, stern pads of his fingertips indulge around me.
To feel warm.
To get rid of the coldness my body posses.
Even then, in some sick way, he's the one who invited this coldness inside of me.
I wiah what I not have.
He, not a man.
He, the singular cause of every mark.
Self hatred spreading with each thought of him, his dreams, and his dreadful screams.
I wish to be locked away in his heart.
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The Poet. | SELECTED WORKS.
PoetrySelected works of mine, consists of Poetry, Short Stories, Quotes and anything else my mind comes to think of. ________________________ MAY HAVE TRIGGERS. READ AT OWN RISK.
