"imposes" poems
This little man that I know with money in his sockets and routine in his pockets has self proclaimed that he is a tight *** When I envision a *** such as this, I imagine a bundle -- of securely aggregated, perfectly sharpened number two pencils. The businessman just shy of adulthood and too tired to remember –even the beginning of his of disclosure, denied his struggle to acclimate a multifarious lifestyle, appropriately suggested in the form of a triangle, and a circle, both of which embody polar opposing adaptations of humanistic routine.
The two shapes: The circle, denies the break in motion by imposing a constant cycle of diligent compression, there is no room for pause only steady flow and relentless drive. This influence of life impression slows down the heart, body, and soul while speeding up time. This particular commitment accommodates the dry colorless beings that embrace and accept boxed imprisonment.
Traditionally, the triangle denotes rhythmic patterns that elevate and drop to a point in which imposes a healthy reflective pause: progression, reflection, balance. As stated, as a provincial approach, a regular triangle flat on its base, peaking at the top represents a healthy, solid life routine. In contrast, the triangle can be flipped upside-down introducing an entirely new dynamic, composed of flat-lined monotony, tapered off to a regressed realm of destruction, regret and disorder. Despite the uniqueness of the standard triangle model to the man in question, it is important to compare the negative reflection, for it applies to the entirety of this investigation.
We used to be lovers, he and I. We shared my giant pillow-top that I bought on the black market for a meager two-hundred fifty. -- A mere steal at that rate.
We occasionally exchanged ideas, mainly about ethical concerns related to globalization and the environment.
I attempted to give him a cooking lesson once, but that failed, indefinitely. The bust was not my doing, but simply, a great disinterest on his part; or better yet an inability of not being better than me at something.
Everything has gotten so crowded.
Jan 18, 2010
Jan 18, 2010 at 1:17 AM UTC
I'm the raindrops to your roses
I can drown you or make you grow,
and my shower always imposes
on the direction that you want to go.
I seem to only fall on to you
praying to assist you to become what you want to be,
but I'm banished when the skies turn blue
are you hoping that I will continue raining?
There's some things no one will ever understand
like why we carry a torch so long that it goes and burns our hand,
and it seems like nothing in this world goes as planned
but raindrops and roses live together within the land.
I'm the raindrops to your roses
I only try to add to your perfection,
and when a window opens; a door closes
but take my droplets as the purest affection.
I hope to never weigh your petals down
I want to assist in making each a wing,
but I can keep pouring until we all drown
but roses are seasonal with only summer and spring.
There's some things no one will ever understand
like why we give away the things so highly in demand,
and even when ripped apart; together we still band,
'cause raindrops and roses live forever within the land.
I'm the raindrops to your roses
I only try to give you strength,
but alone you smell sweet to all the noses
but only my eyes are blind to your thorn's length.
I only come to show you your own beauty,
though I doubt you'd ever see that strong shade of red.
Whereas I'm transparent; you can see right through me
sometimes I wish I could be the sun to your roses instead.
Sep 30, 2018
Sep 30, 2018 at 4:04 AM UTC
Timbeck Tyu, Timbeck Tyu
Great City Timbeck Tyu
Coloured Walls Nicely Painted
Arts and Drawing Everywhere
Artifacts on every crossing
People's representatives feel like king
Magnificient buildings here and there
Bridges and flyover everywhere
Toll tax booth here and there
Statues standing everywhere
Banners hanging here and there
Hoardings, posters everywhere
Malls and Hotels here and there
Dance Bars and Casinos everywhere
Citizens always in Crisis
Struggling with poverty
Economical condition bad
Politicians has gone mad
Nationalism in Slogans
Here and there hooligans
Real nationalist are renamed
They are called anti-nationals
Corruption is on the peak
You need license to speak
Crowd imposes censorship
System respects the crowd
Mouse catches the Crow
Everything on the show
Real news not covered
Real issues are untouched
Fake news are implanted
Press and Media on sale
Laws are being twisted
Burden of proof shifted
Culprits are honoured
Innocents are hanged
Farmers are in debts
Their families are starving
They can't even pay their loans
Neither Principal nor interest
They either commit suicide
or land in jail for not paying loans
Hospital competing with hotels
Doctors busy in making money
Patients treatment is on Sale
Get cured only if you pay
Stray Animals on the rise
What you can do if you cry?
Black money in circulation
White money is called pollution
Rapes, Murders and theft on rise
Law and order is on the papers
Lawyers are with Politicians
Politicians are with Criminals
Criminals are with the Police
Police is with the Capitalists
Only the God is with the victims
That too only, if he really exists
Population almost exploding
Environment full of pollution
Fights and quarrels here and there
Religion and faith always on stake
Caste and Classes everywhere
Race and Religion everywhere
Common people struggling for food
Saints consuming wine and drugs
Rallies and protests uprising
The system has turned deaf
Goddess of law weeping and bleeding
Judges busy in process law and rules
Timbeck Tyu, Timbeck Tyu
Such a great city Timbeck Tyu
Have you liked Timbeck Tyu?
Want to live in Timbeck Tyu?
If you liked, Timbeck Tyu
Want to live in Timbeck Tyu
First apply for passport in your country
Then apply for visa from Timbeck Tyu
Hurry Up, Hurry Up, don't be late
Visa's are limited so take care
May 16, 2019
May 16, 2019 at 6:28 AM UTC
You find yourself from discovering the things you are not.
you are not what they call you.
you are what you call yourself.
you are not the things you failed at.
you are the lessons you learn from your experiences.
you are not the brands you wear.
you are the things you read to inform yourself.
you are not the circumstances you were born into.
you are what you make of your circumstances.
you are not depression, anxiety or eating disorder.
you are the every inch of the smile you wear despite that struggle.
you are not the people who left you behind.
you are the person you choose to become when they are gone.
you are not the ideals society imposes upon you.
you are the truth you honor despite what they tell you.
you are not the rubble they discarded.
you are the empire you built from the ruins they left behind.
Apr 18, 2017
Apr 18, 2017 at 4:33 AM UTC
Opened the blind and saw right away
The sun had too much energy for me today
So I closed the blind again
And I haven't asked if she's mad
Because I know she is
I can still see her enthusiasm through the blind
Some days I wish the sun's energy was mine
Some days I have no energy for creating wishes or dreams
Or even doing simple things of value to me
I spend my days angry at myself for being so depressed
I cannot shine with the weight of my own words upon my chest
I am not the sun, and I'm nowhere near as bright as she
So why when she shines, does she always shine on me?
And why does her energy sometimes scare me?
It's like she's making a mockery of me
And when I turn my back
I can still see her mocking me
I know why I close the blinds when she's too bright
I'm not a vampire, but I do enjoy myself at night
It's as if the darkness of the night imposes no stress on me
I look outside and I'm overwhelmed with a calming feeling
As if I've got no plans and no where to go
I let my mind settle down, and my fingers take control
And when the sun
When she shines bright on me
There are no silhouettes of anyone to hide me
I am in the lime light
Of the sun's energy
She shines on me with hope
Of all I know I could be
And sometimes the changes
Are just a little unsettling
-- Have no idea where I was going with this, but I'm okay with where it went and decided to stop writing this and open the blind again. May add more later
-- Took someones advice and added more. Completely satisfied.
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 8:46 AM UTC
-
The concaves in the glass bowl and the style which it imposes to the
Food within it to warp and appear not from this world.
The spoons and how they surrender the same effect, curving my face
Into a funhouse punch line; I can’t help but smirk,
Which somehow distorts my features even more.
You were convinced it was necessary to serve me your best today,
Pulling out the stops and balancing uneasily on the aging stool that waits in the corner
Just to get out the “fine” kitchenware.
Soon it became routine:
I was over every day, not to eat, no; selfishness is a puzzle.
No, I’d sit at the table and bide my slender hourglasses, shifting a mind between
Taking you to the moon,
Or to the ceiling fan because my goodness it’s getting warm in here.
Planet under smoke, we end the day with a drop of manufactured whiskey
Dangling from the inside of your Swedish wine bottle set from India.
(Bends the droplets into squares)
Our sun is setting and the pictures on the walls fall asleep.
Jan 28, 2011
Jan 28, 2011 at 5:23 AM UTC
As the undulating bodies part
the neon lights catch her face,
and her piercing gaze catches me.
A panorama of nothing but a blur.
But her- sharp.
Thirsty. Blazing.
Her hair is sleek and straight
but the way she throws back her head,
runs her fingers through the strands,
makes a tousled mess as entrancing and as
playfully wild as the club swirling around her.
Her lips are red. A challenging red.
The color of a delicate rose, but also
the color the harlot wears in old films.
The color of sin; of desire.
To unlock those lips
And tousle that hair
And lure out the voice….
To have the power of a man’s gaze now.
To be able to throw at her the force of
a chiseled jaw and stubble across my chin.
To know my role is to chase her
like a brave doe that turned
to look at me in the forest.
Who bounds away gracefully,
Knowing my sights are set
and the target is upon her.
How she would know my adrenaline
surged with every step she made
that took her farther from me.
All the power would lay in my
virile hands, to pull the trigger
on her when I may.
Ha! I laugh at my roots in the world that
imposes a craving for the rule of power.
Your gaze tells me we don’t belong there.
I move through the bodies toward you.
Toward freedom.
Lift me from my roots, darling.
We’ll run together.
Give up the vision of a pointed gun.
How’d they ever make me think
I wanted to be shot?
Oh, what a vision. What a creation!
My long locks twisting around yours,
how my lissome fingers get their
chance with you. And those
supple lips lend me the magnetic red hue.
How different the whole scene becomes
when the both of us are provocative
creatures, two nymphs swimming together
in the water of seduction.
Continue on, Odysseus.
Go conquer Scylla and Charybdis.
Master the seas of half the world.
The Sirens are singing to each other.
Jul 2, 2013
Jul 2, 2013 at 1:04 AM UTC
Donning the mantle of godparent
cannot be blamed on an accident
it is both a gift and a choice
in which the child has no voice.
If it is a decision lightly taken
the deciders should awaken
to the burden it imposes
and the thorns of the roses.
An honor to the invited it might seem
but think about what it means
to the parents of that baby
and how vital to them it may be.
For if this is to be your child
it will not be for just a while
but for a lifetime of growth and pains
a multitude of joys and strains.
In a manner quite distinct
you are asked to be linked
to this person in the ups and downs
to hear both tender and awful sounds.
And think of where you may wander
in your journey out yonder
how your beliefs might alter
and your path might falter.
Wherever you go whatever you do
know this person is joined to you
through your good and bad breaks
with all your missteps and mistakes.
And above all remember you are kin.
You don’t lose. You don’t win.
You are never never exiled
from Love, for you are both God’s child.
Dec 31, 2018
Dec 31, 2018 at 3:13 PM UTC
eyes of sea
caged wingbeats
the only hint
behind the visage of indifference
the shroud that daylight imposes
and darkness disperses
for beneath lies
pain
desire
whispers of oblivion
desperation
that draws forth tears
mixing sleep and wakefulness
yet
somehow
granting more peace
than the glittering sands
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 12:21 AM UTC
The underground monastery,
a feat of such majesty which imposes on me a sense of tranquility
until the Koltsevaya line to Komsomolskya tube rushes in,
they
push past me quite brusquely
as if I'm just a part of the tapestry
while they're making history in
the underground monastery.
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 8:30 AM UTC
Appointment to have ***** removed by robot-assisted surgeon.
Air-conditioned, no mosquitoes in the OR. When you arrive
You'll remove all your clothes. Naked before the ladies, nurses
Who have seen it all before. Mainly remember you're not unique.
Think about the government while they're mixing up the medicine.
There's always governance even if there's little or no government.
Back to counting backwards. Inside out, if I die, will I know it?
At 70, Jack's running the gauntlet with some skill!
Benny Golson wonders aloud what might have been
Had Clifford Brown not been killed in that auto accident.
Jack's girlfriend once said he was the reincarnation of Clifford
But he doesn't believe in ghosts, karma or an afterlife.
Benny's old girlfriend Betty inspired the tune Along Came Betty
And that's the most afterlife Benny or Betty's gonna get.
The Trojan bench being not as deep as the Greek
Once Sarpedon and Hector go down even the lucky shot
To Achilles' feet is not enough to save the town.
Aeneas is no match for wily Odysseus
Although unbeknownst to all he has the last laugh when Rome
Conquers Athens, the Myrmidons, what's left of Ilion
And the whole known world from India to Britain.
It's not bad to acknowledge death's primacy
Although after a while you stop remembering
To fear. That's when everything becomes clear
Purpose v. purposelessness matters less,
Anomie v. rule of law, that's a preference
Love v. loneliness, worth about 25 cents
Or a million bucks in the light of the holocaust.
Nothing but light, love and the majesty of death in the room.
Machines stand ready like marines, their beauty is in the motion
That overcomes inertia. The food supply is deeply compromised
So eat whatever you want. Mourning the dead is part of the business
Of healing and staying alive. When you get to the afterlife, walk with
eyes open,
Ocotillo and cactus may be in flower. The robot does the work,
imposes
Its own small order, like a girl on a bicycle with disorder in her hair.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 10:35 PM UTC
There is a man who has a large beautiful home
And a grand yard behind it
His sheets are made of Egyptian cotton
And he imposes his fit body onto them every night
On his bed he dreamt
The sky was quickly changing from pink, to blue, to grey, and so on
The ground was made of mirrors so he felt sorrounded by the clouds
He wasn't afraid even if it seemed strange
So he starting walking the set path in front of him
He came upon his house and went inside
And in it he saw nothing
And the nothingness hit him
He swore it off with anger
And went out to the large yard with shrubbery sculptures
The grass in the yard breathed
Ominously so
The ground had cracks but wasn't dry
And there was a spiral labyrinth
There were no trials in this maze
Only one task
To follow it all the way down
The entrance, stone with etched words he couldn't understand
Grew as he approached
And he felt the weight of the world like a roach
The hedges inside the labyrinth stared down on him
He felt the hedges stare all the way down
They dispised him for reasons unknown
And whispered
"What would you do in our shoes?"
At the center of the maze was a blood filled, oozing, heart
Every beat was slower than the last
And he understood it as his own
The sky turned a strict, brooding grey
Frantically, he searched his mind for answers
He blamed the people around him
"They're poison!" He shouted
But that couldn't be true
He wept, for he didn't know what to do to make the beating regular
And the hedges stared
And the sky closed in
And the whispers turned to shouts
Then it all stopped
The heart, beating
The hedges, staring
The sky, moving
While he was glad, he felt alone
But then it seemed the world spoke all at once
"Give us your all, we shall return the favor, and we will be one."
And he awoke in his beautiful home
And he wept in repentance
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 2:34 PM UTC
a yellowish shroud
is placed hurriedly
upon starched white sheets
revealing vicious contrasts
where the cullan trees lie
where the cullan trees lie
its Hessian appearance
an omen, a foretold event
like breathing deeply in a silence
amidst the history of a great disorder
where the cullan trees lie
where the cullan trees lie
violent ink stains
on folding parchment
embalm themselves
upon the thickness of a sorrow
where the cullan trees lie
where the cullan trees lie
placed deep within
shallow subterranean depths
of an enigmatic being
that is both engineering and entrenching
where the cullan trees lie
where the cullan trees lie
its perplexing sensations causing
a wonderful ingrained passion
to erupt with imponderable abstracts
where truth does not exceed exception
where the cullan trees lie
where the cullan trees lie
the shroud provides a false tranquillity
where there is no longer breath
imposes itself unobtrusively
with wonderful staccato caresses
where the cullan trees lie
where the cullan trees lie
it proclaims an innocence of salvation
yet gives gauge to spectacular routes
and an enormity of misconceptions
amid prestigious beatifications
where the cullan trees lie
where the cullan trees lie
oh sweet smelling blue abyss
oh deluded reality
dressed in a winding sheet
of meaningless words
where the cullan trees lie
where the cullan trees lie
wrapped in phrases of falsehood
amidst this purgatorial fog
a twilight world of mysterious ailments
maintains a world of external restraints
where the cullan trees lie
where the cullan trees lie
creates and emptiness, a vacancy
provides an intoxication of vision
a strangeness of sensation
a world transparent
where the cullan trees lie
where the cullan trees lie
read the sentences of silence
breathe the perfume of never fading flowers
and see for the first time
the unfinished likeness of others
where the cullan trees lie
where the cullan trees lie
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 6:11 AM UTC
Her veins have deteriorated
Narrowed and not ameliorated
With every pungent pulsating pump
Her quality of life she does expunge
To a beating that is crepuscular
And will gain no life from any stabilizer
It is bleeding desultory diaphanous crimson
Demoted by her own visceral volition
Until one day it ceases
As the walls to her capillaries deceases
Until a cardiologist by a different name
Imposes on her grotesque game
To replace these decrepit pathways
That does mellifluous passion decay
Until these capillaries are replaced
Through the bypass of an ethereal nature embraced
To heal such a slaughtered souls defeats
Until a her hearts ephemeral beats
Coalesce with the tranquil thundering
Of her shamans pulse
that dominates over her demons plundering.
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 1:14 AM UTC
Grim determination
Slogging through mud
Breathing through smoke
Blinded by fog
Alone
Isolated
Moving forward with no idea where my foot will fall next
Quicksand lurks
Waiting to pull me down
Backwards
Drowning in despair
These are the images
The feelings
The obstacles
That the world imposes on me
Yet I know
That it is both real
And an illusion
Designed to sap my strength
Because I am not alone
Others walk beside me
If I reach out to them, we’ll walk together
And sometimes there is a break in the smoke and fog
I can move
I can breath
I can see
Hope lights the way, a destination is in sight!
But for now
The light and clarity is just a distant memory
That I hold onto
As I continue to move forward
Through mud
Smoke
Fog
Falling back
On grim determination
To propel me forward
Aug 27, 2020
Aug 27, 2020 at 2:51 PM UTC
BE free from the church and its impositions
its restrictions
contradictions
and ungodly superstitions
BE free from all dogmatic institutions
Patriarchal truths
are only partial solutions
BE free from the coat of protection
that they fashion
A one-size fit
that impedes expansion
BE free from the doctrine
that imposes separation
Brother versus brother
Nation versus nation
BE free from the teachings
that set us apart
That caters to the Ego
not to the heart
BE free from the darkness
that controls your mind
How can you see the light
if you're asleep or blind
BE free from the ‘Book’
and its static communication
A covert operation
in the ‘divine’ proclamation
BE free from hypocrisy
intolerance and vanity
The ‘ignis fatuus’ progenitor
of the world's insanity.
Jul 7, 2010
Jul 7, 2010 at 3:51 PM UTC
When lust at last imposes in the heart,
It sets ablaze the ground and smokes the mind,
And no compelling order to depart,
Can separate the soul from thoughts that bind.
For when lust's made its great impassioned catch,
Its hold outweighs the best escaping skills,
Its talon's grip's a solid iron latch,
And won't release until its aim's fulfilled.
The lustful man deliberately will go,
Ignoring will to do what lust must do,
Where talons only **** him to and fro,
Ignoring moral peace which he once knew.
And when the lust has finished with a scream,
The weakness seems was only but a dream.
(C)2014, Christos Rigakos
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 6:47 PM UTC
I missed you today when i wished to have a moment of unadulterated joy
Every sign of being lost and blank i wished to destroy
I often smile with the thought of you
On all my worries it imposes a curfew
I missed you today when i enjoyed
That joy would have been doubled with you by my side
Your thought is inevitable, i fail to avoid
Without you my life seems to be void
I missed you today, as i picked up the phone
As there is no one i wait for in the internet zone
I wished to hear you scold me loud
Even it was somewhere between the crowd
I missed you today when i wished to share
As irrespective of my stupidities i know you would be there
Restless mind did tire me from within
Even the bright light around seemed to be dim.
I missed you today with all my heart
i wish we weren’t this far apart..
Jan 5, 2016
Jan 5, 2016 at 11:16 AM UTC
The prettiest place you’ll ever be
I’ll look down and see an old cigarette box
Scattered amongst an insurmountable sea of trash
It’s cock-eyed
Diagonally sticking out of the decrepit weeds
It screams, “I don’t give a ****
Neither do I
I think its beauty surpasses that of Mount Everest
Because I get to feel it, taste it, be in it
I don’t have to gaze at a postcard
Tell myself---over and over---it’s real!
All I have to do is tear it in half
Just a dream sought out by people who are starving for nature to be real
Like one thing didn’t get taken away:
I’ll show you! Here’s a postcard!
I tear
I scream
I don’t give a ****
It’s beautiful because it never imposes that it is
I’ll look at him sitting with a docile glaze
Open your mouth
Decay
Black, old, tattered, toxic to me
Because I can’t look at you
Ugly, tangible and ugly
Crazy son-of-a-bitch
Just don’t rob me, okay, okay?!
I’ll keep walking and cross the streets that are slowly caving in towards that place
They tell us we don’t want to be
Fire? Fire would be best
Probably the best thing to happen
To these forgotten about streets
They’ll nod their heads and crisp into a charcoaled deep-fry
But I cross, because I don’t care about you, you or you
**** YOU CAR
I’ll walk with a purpose because in this whirlpool I can’t have a purpose
So I’ll pretend and walk, walk upward, look forward
I see you, sir, I see you, your eyes feast upon my flesh
You’ll never get me but you sure as hell will get to me
Beady-eyed
I hope the sun will melt your scummy body into these streets, and you’ll burn with them!
This place is beautiful I’m telling you
The Great Wall of China couldn’t compare to its concrete magnificence
I’m dying with it; I’ll take five deep breaths and revel in the fumes of progress
I’ll be on your postcards
We aren’t just Any Town, USA
We are the future *************
And I’m smiling but I’m melting and the flesh, the smell of flesh, unbearable
I’ll take ***** air any day
But before it’s too late, tell those ignorant foreigners
Tell them they can have it too!
We are coming fast
Dying from starvation, dying from hurricanes, dying from AIDS
That’s old news
Tell them they can be beautiful too
And die clutching the remote,
The remote of freedom
CNN
playing
quietly
in
the
background
Nov 3, 2011
Nov 3, 2011 at 11:02 AM UTC
*My liberal broad-mind is a tree,
each branch carries the weight
of an independent hope, fear,
anxiety and dream.
When the wind imposes,
when it whistles, howls and blows,
you can hear each of my independent emotion's haunting cries.
They cry because I've let them go.
They're now lost in limbo - it's somewhat disturbing and morbid,
I know!
But that's just how it goes!
By Lady R.F ©2016*
Nov 5, 2016
Nov 5, 2016 at 8:23 AM UTC
To understand
this solid door
You must come true
and eager for more
There is nothing to be bought
or sold
by bleeding red roses
You are not faulted
or framed
for what the moment imposes
Come to thee
With an open heart in mind
To stand and witness
The reality you've been longing to find
I promise nothing
For if you push the door it will not swing
But if you pull towards your heart
You might be surprised as to what I'll bring
My Everything
Feb 27, 2019
Feb 27, 2019 at 4:26 PM UTC
all my past
imposes on my breath today
i enter a grand mosaic public building
and on goes my medical face mask
i join the back of the queue with my documents in one hand
and my numbered butcher ticket
in the other
i admire the mosaics
a jarring tide of art against the bureaucratic purpose
of these rooms
gauzed in with own product exhaust
all my past is attending
exhumed
patted into my breath
baiting remembrance with unsubtle notes
for example :
integrated spittings of 'drum' tobacco (i quit a decade ago)
horning catches of cologne every boy used as a teen
seasonal scents unweaned from deep in my system
(some reigned in from the different countries
i lived in or visited)
then i am frisked back to infancy with breast milk and rusks
it's all there a basking flippancy
all there in musk about my face
one fragrance after another
it's an honest relief
to host an alternative to my 'old man' breath
but odd and concerning
something of the brain ?
Apr 6, 2024
Apr 6, 2024 at 1:40 PM UTC
Peace through War
Slavery with Freedom,
where Strength is measured by Ignorance.
The kneel imposes blindness,
the breathlessness of the witness.
So puncture the lung,
a symptom of Clarity.
Appease the stone,
a display of Vanity.
The static unyielding faith,
a sign of absent sanity.
So—repress in prayer,
rather address in self.
Dec 21, 2012
Dec 21, 2012 at 11:24 AM UTC
Because She Craved the Very Best
by Michael R. Burch
Because she craved the very best,
he took her East, he took her West;
he took her where there were no wars
and brought her bright bouquets of stars,
the blush and fragrances of roses,
the hush an evening sky imposes,
moonbeams pale and garlands rare,
and golden combs to match her hair,
a nightingale to sing all night,
white wings, to let her soul take flight ...
She stabbed him with a poisoned sting
and as he lay there dying,
she screamed, "I wanted everything!"
and started crying.
Keywords/Tags: Female, lover, crave, best, gifts, presents, offerings, unsatisfied, demanding, tears, betrayal, backstabbing
Apr 1, 2020
Apr 1, 2020 at 11:32 PM UTC