Sticky fingers covered in honey grip my flesh,
Clinging as if I am made of precious nectar.
The smell of sweetness is sickening,
Like the scent of lost innocence.
A single taste was all it took
For me to become something to be coveted.
A single taste and I was no longer human.
YOU ARE READING
Storm Prophecies
PoetryRain falls in crosshatch across the lamp lit sky, splattering the asphalt ground with splashes of reflected light. I look at the sketchbook in my hand and trace the penciled rain and smudged glow. It was shit. I let to book fly onto the muddy grass...
