These aching ribs can no longer restrain this loving, sheared-apart heart.
Charred lungs of a smoker, you press your cigarette against my collarbone.
Our burning flesh, mirrored scars,
How could you never know I feel this way?
YOU ARE READING
Desolate Moon (SS 2)
Poesiemore exhibitionism, more emotional outbursts, more uncomfortably uncut honesty. TRIGGER WARNING.
