Red InkA Poem by Dhes
He looked at her like bad poetry
Her body was a blank page His thoughts were the words Together she inked it in her skin. Every stroke was a pleasure As she tow each verse Then stared it for a minute, Blood spilled from her wrist. © 2016 Dhes |
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Added on December 16, 2016 Last Updated on December 16, 2016 Author
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