Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Feb 2022
I don’t think she was built to last
This vessel
This shell
My body- a temple?
You must be joking.

I shall run her through till the last ounce of blood as been drunk and dripped down my pouring neck
I shall destroy her with all the malcontent of a blunt in a cigar lounge
No one else treated her like gold
So I shall rust rust rust
Till I am all but bone
Written by
jojo  Gender Fluid
(Gender Fluid)   
159
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems