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Poetry dump.
The warmth of a blanket can only provide so much comfort,
So I lay here, and try to picture the feeling of flesh on flesh,
And it flows into something else,
A need for passion where only rips and tears will suffice,
Where red is my favorite color,
And you wear it proudly,
Your smooth skin upon mine layered with something more,
Then the guilt sets in.
Like the tide pulling away from the sore the fantasy ends,
And I'm left here again,
searching for a memory in which love was not pain,
And I wasn't the cadaver left behind.
soft. sassy. Gentle.
the manic pixie dream you had as a teen,
Who would listen to your woes,
force you to follow your wildest dreams.
every day she speaks in the way you prefer,
doing the tasks,
the positions,
You wish her to fulfill.
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