Nothing else quite like an inner crave,
midas hand confiscates inch by inch scorching pain,
body surges blood indulging raid,
wrap tightly fingers around my fire – I elate,
tap slightly stinger rimming entirety – I'm saved.
YOU ARE READING
Between an Aphrodisiac & a Loathing Place.
PoetryA collection of poetry that has been written from me (and my constant battle with wrecking insanity). Some will make sense; some will leave you with a big ole' question mark; but, like myself, not everything can be precise and make definite sense...
