This is so infectious
and
disgusting.
My lust becomes nothing more than a
puddle,
and you become nothing more than a
leech.
With every drop,
this mastication leaves me feeling so
incomplete
yet
engrossed.
My body becomes a walk in for your
aromanticism,
but
The leech is never
full,
it is never
satisfied,
or
appreciative.
Instead,
This leech is
greedy
over the
consumption
of my
solitude.
Tho,
despite all the
begging
or the
crying,
I still feed into all the
lies
and
desperation
because the younger optimist I used to be would have love to become the representation of
joy
and
freedom
or live with
satisfaction
as the
leech
would hopefully be nothing more
than a puddle,
and I would be nothing more
than a person.
Jaydah R
Nov 30, 2022
Nov 30, 2022 at 8:53 PM UTC