Queen of Thorns
November 16, 2015
Prick.
Betrayal hurts,
oh the prick.
The taste of metal,
on a soft finger is lingering on my throat.
Each drop is it's own separate thorn.
Don't wither.
0 snaps·2 views
View on Power Poetry →If you don't learn to write your own story, someone else will write it for you
I'm a dreamer looking for Wonderland
Prick.
Betrayal hurts,
oh the prick.
The taste of metal,
on a soft finger is lingering on my throat.
Each drop is it's own separate thorn.
Don't wither.