chained to the spike-post at the foot of your bed;
she cries.
every lie you've ever told, that you love her would never hurt her;
breaks her now.
there's nothing good here, kids:
your man-whores are nothing better than filth.
YOU ARE READING
visions
Puisithe thoughts in my head, however disorganized [warning, it can get heavy.] -- poetry #43 random #86
