He stood a little over six feet tall, with eyes as sharp
As when glass etches its way through the thick skin of my soles
He was a pretty boy, but cold, with a tongue that tasted as sweet
as the candy canes during christmas time
Did I love the pretty boy? I often wonder when I sit at night dragging at the roots of my thin hair
Crying over the time he crushed my pride with a few words,
sharp as daggers etching its way into my chemical receptors
Sending me into a state of ultimate desolation, of depression,
of pain I could never imagine I would have to suffer through
Pulling on my uniform at 5 am, forcing the smile on to my pale face, drained of life and blood that begun to bubble into my chest,
A pretty boy made me wish for death,
I can't seem to forget,
When I cried out in pleasure, clutching to his toned body, a foreign feeling to my inexperienced self that left me as stiff as rigor mortis
The pretty boy,
With eyes freezing akin to the ice that fell during the coldest winter,
words as sweet as roses with thorns,
etching its way between my thighs, tasting the little innocence I had left
The pretty boy,
Still lingers in the deepest part of my memories,
In such a short time, I let myself become enveloped into the arms of death
in the cloak of an angel,
The pretty boy,
I wished he had come back to me.
The pretty boy,
That doesnt think of me in bed with the woman he truly loves,
her voice, not mine
That captivates him at nighttime
The pretty boy,
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 11:33 AM UTC