Somewhere near the whereabouts
Of the last poem
You ravished and abandoned
For lack of a moral compass,
You’re sure to come across the future
Ruins of the next one, marked
By a small white bloody sheet
Begging you to be oh so gentle
This time around.
Of the last poem
You ravished and abandoned
For lack of a moral compass,
You’re sure to come across the future
Ruins of the next one, marked
By a small white bloody sheet
Begging you to be oh so gentle
This time around.
No comments:
Post a Comment