Thursday, April 24, 2014

My exultant eyes burst into tears, 
He knows not the meaning of which.
Crimson half moons rest on my neck, 
His sharp nails dug in a shade too deep. 
He is my pink mascara,
His lips smell of poppers, 
He can keep the regret colour memories....
I just want to smell of freedom,
I have always been the topper.

22. 04. 2012

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