Posted on

Perhaps next time


Her lips met his

The spark had ceased

Her hands curled upon his hips

Past hurt resurfaced

He wrote his name

Along with digits from where he came

Unknown's avatar

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

Categories Dear DiaryLeave a comment

Leave a comment