Mar 2018
It appeared,
a whisper.
The caress of foulness
gripped my stomach,
years of negligence,
curdled my mind.
Love was dead,
I bristled
in front of the corpse.
a whisper.
The caress of foulness
gripped my stomach,
years of negligence,
curdled my mind.
Love was dead,
I bristled
in front of the corpse.
A poem about dead fantasies
