Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jul 19
make your grave
the lap on my thighs...

your open casket coffin
calls for the nip of your
soft rotting flesh
on its skin

if i have to hold you
while fleeting, decaying
losing yourself alive...

i'd rather be mother death
forever still watching over you.
S E N D    M O A R    G A S O L I N E
i need much edge.

thanks i guess.
bakunawa
Written by
bakunawa  Gender Fluid/Philippines
(Gender Fluid/Philippines)   
Please log in to view and add comments on poems