Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
jm_himPoems
If it smells dead, it probably is Rot makes no mistakes I sit and spin my wheels and it takes Everything inside of me To rid myself of her stink Seventeen years of parental nurture Two weeks of preying in search for; Only six minutes of squeezing to be Left only to be filth again Passed over and forgotten Are my words too heavy for your song? Sing loudly so I can hear you Again, my pale skinned love As I hover above and sweat into your mouth Quiet swan song sung, splash of **** all too loud Calm I grow as from you, I take my cue Does my breath not fog glass as much as yours? If I crawl away now, I won't appear to move. Silently shaking and praying in search for Something less living, something less grand Bedside stories told to you once at night A lone little light plugged in low by your closet You feared the wrong monsters, and I felt that fright It clung to the air; you were my first as by my hand. But my hand pulls away now-- My fingers hardwired, pulling, reaching For something warm to touch And you were warm once, too
0
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 4:50 AM UTC
****** Predator
If it smells dead, it probably is Rot makes no mistakes I sit and spin my wheels and it takes Everything inside of me To rid myself of her stink Seventeen years of parental nurture Two weeks of preying in search for; Only six minutes of squeezing to be Left only to be filth again Passed over and forgotten Are my words too heavy for your song? Sing loudly so I can hear you Again, my pale skinned love As I hover above and sweat into your mouth Quiet swan song sung, splash of **** all too loud Calm I grow as from you, I take my cue Does my breath not fog glass as much as yours? If I crawl away now, I won't appear to move. Silently shaking and praying in search for Something less living, something less grand Bedside stories told to you once at night A lone little light plugged in low by your closet You feared the wrong monsters, and I felt that fright It clung to the air; you were my first as by my hand. But my hand pulls away now-- My fingers hardwired, pulling, reaching For something warm to touch And you were warm once, too
"Many Conversations at Once" series collaborative poem, stanza trading HERS MINE HERS MINE HERS MINE HERS
#predator#collab#collaborative#kink
jm_him
Written by
jm_him
M/Appalachian born
Aug 5, 2018
Aug 5, 2018 at 4:50 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem