We're not holding hands,
I’m french-kissing her.
She walked in
and my machine gun thoughts
exploded,
bounced off,
her Clark Kent chest,
ricocheting around
in my skull.
We crash together,
our tongues locked
in a wet, awkward embrace
breath intermingling,
tasting like a lime-flavoured
White Claws,
slashing to bare
all of my bad decisions.
- V.B.B.
About the Creator
V. B. B
I'm a pessimistic amateur poet and writer that has had a few violent and dark things published. Also, I love to make lists of my favourite movies, t.v. shows, books, and music.
The Hour Long Minute
I’m finally off of work from my overnight shift and now comes the hard part. I do Ride-share driving for about two or three hours after I get off of work each morning, not only to make ends meet, but to put away a little extra money for my rapidly approaching wedding.
By Earl W. Pearl4 days ago in Fiction
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