Fingers slide
Whimper, a cry
Wet, slick.
Try to speak
Throat dry.
Closed,
no words come.
Lay there helpless
Afraid.
Questions running
through the head.
Feels so good,
but it's so wrong.
Can't tell anyone.
No. No. Stop.
Please.
Stop.
It hurts.
No more!
Whimper, a cry
Wet, slick.
Try to speak
Throat dry.
Closed,
no words come.
Lay there helpless
Afraid.
Questions running
through the head.
Feels so good,
but it's so wrong.
Can't tell anyone.
No. No. Stop.
Please.
Stop.
It hurts.
No more!
3 comments:
First comment erased, wrong reading idea, as you said it.
But very true that I like to come back to my friend's blog, for a glipse of contemporary art.
Don't feel like you've got to erase your comments you make. I like knowing what you have to say. I just wanted to let you know the situation behind the poem but felt it was best not to do it through here.
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