Mother, may I?


All day I lie in wait and thirst for her. She kept me at bay. Her manipulation of my willingness between the folds of the tumbled sheet, her best attribute lay wide for my mouth to devour her sweet nectar.  

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Published by: her mourning coffee

Walking a fine line between genius and insanity. My words are raw, sometimes visceral, and vulgar.  I write to settle my thoughts.  I have triggers that extract emotional immaturity, deep- rooted fears, anger, insecurity, vulnerability, yet I heal with every stroke of the pen.  I might be that monster.  I sometimes scare myself.  Please keep this in mind as you read.  I do not wish to provoke you, though stories need to be told. *not all posts are in real time

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