Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Oct 2018
If your the type
to only breathe through
the stitches
of your camisole.
And if you always taste like mint,
when kissed on the mouth.
Just because you don't want them smell,
the self hate.
That resides in the back
of your throat
in your breath.

You're also the type
to call me up
six am
asking for a
Friend
L
Written by
L  16/F
(16/F)   
  535
   Timur Shamatov, Yann, Mary-Rose H and Red
Please log in to view and add comments on poems