My wardrobe is a casket of clumped corpses, belonging to individuals who have lost themselves in mental orgies
Ye blasphemous beings
How could thou declare us slaves to our carnal appetite
When seeds and stones could be hidden on the body of a battered servant
And the saliva of a person on a sexual joy ride is sweeter than milk and honey.
YOU ARE READING
Diary Of A Bludgeoned Soul
PoesiaPerhaps sparks of compassion is flaring up in your veins, The qualities of a hero - surfacing A longing to save me, to end my pain If you're reading this, its probably too late For I am nothing but a bludgeoned soul
