binge drinking and staring,
your legs are soft
my pants are not
you like my lips near,
and i couldn't care less
rubbing against each other,
touching all there is to touch,
like filthy hands in the sink
i could come home with you,
or i could never see you again
and i think it's sad,
that it's all the same to me
like the color of skin
and if you think differently, dear plaything,
then you're a racist














Comments
i already liked the title
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with my own hands, i carried my momories to where spirits sleep in the quicksand..like a butterfly i let my sadness rise, over the mountainside, to the place of my dreams...
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~livingpoetsociety
~DarkPoetSociety
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left our teeth marks on the barrel of the gun
--
~livingpoetsociety
~DarkPoetSociety
--
left our teeth marks on the barrel of the gun
--
~livingpoetsociety
~DarkPoetSociety
barcalona.
--
left our teeth marks on the barrel of the gun
--
~livingpoetsociety
~DarkPoetSociety
--
left our teeth marks on the barrel of the gun
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