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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, it’s all so hot and wrong
(though I admit I’m no innocent apple-seller).
You wipe your hands upon your apron, quick to hide the juice.
Don’t bother,
You’re nothing but a stain.
©2007-2009 ~moonshinehollow
:iconmoonshinehollow:

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:iconember-rain:
Oh the marvels of a poet. I love you so much.

--
All You Need Is Love
:iconzorrinon:
=)

you posted stuff!!

--
I have no fear of the dark. there isnt anything that could be scarier than me...xp
___________________
gallery!!
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June 23, 2007
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