pencil-lead, poison in a shiny package that somehow one can love.
pressed to her lips between her two fingers,
the poison ever so wetted by her tongue.
and though she may cry for release from that pain,
the poison forever will linger.
she loves it too much to let it go; on and on it will stain.
YOU ARE READING
visions
Poetrythe thoughts in my head, however disorganized [warning, it can get heavy.] -- poetry #43 random #86
