tw: very very slight gore
mosquito:
mosquitoes fill the air.
a swarm of them crowd around me,
sucking me of my life.
you're in that crowd.
you always have been.
and you'll always be my favorite.
there's something different about the way you take from me.
or maybe there isn't.
maybe the blood loss is just twisting my perception of you;
making it seem like you're special.
i'm addicted to the feeling of your proboscis dipping into my flesh,
letting you take what you desire,
drain me of everything.
and i know one day you won't be able to.
i'll be empty, sucked clean of everything to take.
but until then,
you'll be my favorite mosquito.
YOU ARE READING
my poetry isn't real ☆
Poetry"i'm a poet in the sense that i write poetry. god awful poetry that doesn't rhyme or make sense" a collection of poems, tackling all sorts of topics, from all kinds of inspirations, from a writer who's sure his work is nothing more than pretty words.
