I worry that by the time I feel qualified to write what I want to, it will be too late.
Like flies
to a festering corpse,
dredging the filth
and the rotting
swarms of black thoughts,
It hit
engulfing adrenaline
dragging the lake
of cum and blood,
of lust.
Glistening gashes, bruises
Wide eyes,
that are still in their sockets
lungs brimming with blood
concave chest and fractured skull.
Don't move,
don't make a sound
but listen for a gasp from
blue lips,
trembles or long lashes
brushing cold skin.
And He screamed
because he didn't know how,
but he had,
and there was no
going back.
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