When I grow old my hair will grey, my skin will sag, and I'll tire of most things. But I'll never tire of you.
{m}
YOU ARE READING
Perfect Kind of Hell
Poetry'The torture of loving you was addicting You were like a drug that was forever in my veins Your harsh words did nothing but make me crave you more And your cruel hands did nothing but make me want to please you Everyone told me you were hell, an...
