If *** is a weapon, she shoots to ****
She left a scar, there,
Beneath my chest for the thrill.
The pain refuses to abate. And like the throbbing of a toothache,
She numbs my will.
If looks could **** she’d be a weapon
Of mass destruction.
And the hollow she wrought with ease in me,
Betrays her lack of skill.
Now, like a warhead of doomed love, she strikes,
And blasts my cursed will.
Yet I’d have her sent on me still...
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 11:27 PM UTC
If *** is a weapon, she shoots to ****
She left a scar, there,
Beneath my chest for the thrill.
The pain refuses to abate. And like the throbbing of a toothache,
She numbs my will.
If looks could **** she’d be a weapon
Of mass destruction.
And the hollow she wrought with ease in me,
Betrays her lack of skill.
Now, like a warhead of doomed love, she strikes,
And blasts my cursed will.
Yet I’d have her sent on me still...