skin pricks, there's a storm coming in
hear it rumbling in the distance
i'm rubbed raw,
spread out on the kitchen floor
braced for impact
and i haven't even fucked you yet
it takes a hollow kind of man to chill the insides of my bones,
i'm a whore for the unknown
you make me feel my soul
how can i deny myself
any fix that punches through doors
so long swollen shut?
i finger phantom bruises,
can't find a rig,
no need for it
the way you make my veins ache,
hungry for a hit
About Me
- Hobbles McHatchetface
- What happens when you ground an impulsive, flighty transient by way of late 90's model BMW travelling at full speed?
The daily rants and opiate fueled insights of Hobbles; a full time transient, occasional writer and temporary cripple as she grapples with physical therapy, living on her parent's couch, sobriety, long distance dating and the long road to recovery.
Subscribe To
Posts
Comments
No comments:
Post a Comment