Not right.
Greasy crescent moons-
like cuts upon the surface, slime without a trail,
hardening, but not healed.
Permanent, unchangeable as scars.
Arrows shot, let fly!
Tipped in horrid juice, they pierce beyond flesh
and the senders laugh, often the receivers too.
They are twisted. The only ones that feel it
are the only ones who can feel.
I must confess, its all so hot and wrong
(though I admit Im no innocent apple-seller).
You wipe your hands upon your apron, quick to hide the juice.
Dont bother,
Youre nothing but a stain.















Comments
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All You Need Is Love
you posted stuff!!
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I have no fear of the dark. there isnt anything that could be scarier than me...xp
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gallery!!
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