made me sour,
not flower. Once, a rose
garden, but like the ground
in winter I hardened.
Your love
made me curdle,
not fertile. Cut
to a stump,
a place a man
plumps down
his **** a farce!
Your love
made me whittle. I turned
brittle and cracked. Now I'm
half of a woman. Not silky,
but woolen.
Your love
turned me spastic. Stretched me out
as an elastic I lost all my shape. I stand flat
as a crepe.
Aug 2, 2022
Aug 2, 2022 at 9:19 AM UTC
made me sour,
not flower. Once, a rose
garden, but like the ground
in winter I hardened.
Your love
made me curdle,
not fertile. Cut
to a stump,
a place a man
plumps down
his **** a farce!
Your love
made me whittle. I turned
brittle and cracked. Now I'm
half of a woman. Not silky,
but woolen.
Your love
turned me spastic. Stretched me out
as an elastic I lost all my shape. I stand flat
as a crepe.
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