Sore lips
Every drop of bitter pulp though my throat,etch'hing, breaking, getting more and more fragile.
Bittersweet aftertaste, just the same,
deja vu from a day with you. Just a kiss. Just the same.
Dying just to be, just to reach, just to give you,
all you need, you deserve, the skinniest girl in the world.
I will be, I will give it all to you-again.
This time I will be enough. I will have it all.
I will be so simple. Pure bones. Just for you.
Poetry by Polly
Read 643 times
Written on 2007-09-05 at 20:54




![]() |
Rik |