You've left your bloody
fingerprints as a trail
for me to follow.
And even though you've wiped
your chin, the stains are left
for me to notice, no matter how
you claim to have appeased your hunger.
I cannot read your words
without wondering who fucked
them before me, and who's fucking them
afterwards.
I am full-bellied on your saccharin lies,
the pains they inflict on my
innards. Full to here, but you
think I should indulge in a bit more;
you have more stories to tell.
I've grown a nasty taste for pain,
so similar to your kisses -
I cannot tell the two apart.

08/15/2007

Author's Note: I wasn't going to bring this here.

Posted on 08/15/2007
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