Her lips caress her addiction,
A kiss of smoke or of affection,
A hand to hold, a hand to stroke,
Fill her body, lust and smoke.
Two become one and one becomes nothing,
He lets go, but she keeps holding,
Unfelt her nerves are ending,
Her love fading, money spending,
To keep her sane from all this pain.
She wants to cry and scream again,
But so apathetic is she, that without control of her own body, she lusts for one and does many, where does this story end?
When will she be spent and finished?
How many knives can fit into her flesh?
What secret will be her undoing?
Was it ever even real?
YOU ARE READING
We're All Rusting
PoetryRandom poems written by yours truly Trigger warning: As these poems are written about actual life experiences that I have had some of you may find some details to be rather traumatizing, especially if you have went through anything similar. Not all...
