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Literature Text
my skin prickles as
i breathe in anxiety
and choke on your pulse.
you have me strung like a bow,
pulled tight
at the edges: an
arch bent towards you by
deft fingers leaving burning
prints.
my body, contorted to fit yours
now seems deformed without it.
i breathe in anxiety
and choke on your pulse.
you have me strung like a bow,
pulled tight
at the edges: an
arch bent towards you by
deft fingers leaving burning
prints.
my body, contorted to fit yours
now seems deformed without it.
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our puzzle pieces were cut
to
fit.
to
fit.
© 2008 - 2024 tonelokeart
Comments35
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Oh wow, this is fabulous writing... something
you definitely have a right to be proud of!
you definitely have a right to be proud of!