O ****** little skirt,
A red so loud it burns my skin.
Such fine floral patterns,
And thorns that split human skin.
Wanders on a hill of red and green,
Falls into the hands of men with no mercy.
Stretched and pulled and stretched and pulled,
Like liquor rushing into hot capsules.
O ****** little skirt,
Trembles in the dark closet.
Pleasure and pain, pleasure and pain,
Share the same red unmade bed.
O ****** little skirt,
Keep bleeding, keep bleeding.
O poor ****** little skirt,
What have you now?
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 8:34 PM UTC
O ****** little skirt,
A red so loud it burns my skin.
Such fine floral patterns,
And thorns that split human skin.
Wanders on a hill of red and green,
Falls into the hands of men with no mercy.
Stretched and pulled and stretched and pulled,
Like liquor rushing into hot capsules.
O ****** little skirt,
Trembles in the dark closet.
Pleasure and pain, pleasure and pain,
Share the same red unmade bed.
O ****** little skirt,
Keep bleeding, keep bleeding.
O poor ****** little skirt,
What have you now?
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