there's a heavy load on her chest, much much thicker than the smokes she inhales.
it's pitch black, it's suffocating her more than her cigs.
those two arms that trying to reaching out, seems too weak to hold her body.
and the only person she can rely on is no one.
YOU ARE READING
Thy Filthy One.
Poetrythis what people called love are strangling me: suffocating: as I was gasping for air and there was your lips offering sweet nothings that made me live to this day onward. "oh, honey... how i wish i wasn't insane..." I said.
