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Winter whispers that the night is cold,
Hands are wandering in places bold.
The heat of human flesh to flesh,
Silk to mesh.
Grasp is tight in the dark,
Bones and muscles have left their mark.
Bruises on the skin,
Stinging and pain within.
The deafening silence,
Unwanted perseverance.
Time folds into infinity,
She is stripped of all dignity.
Tell her when it’s over,
Can you tell her when you stop?
Walk away and then leave her there to rot.
And so it be that a passerby comes to find,
The human carcass that is left from a world unkind.
About the Creator
Shimica May Leng
" 𝙲𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚛 𝙳𝚘𝚘𝚛 "
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Comments (1)
You're doing amazing work