Sex in her hair, panic
in her heart
eating away at
subliminal cravings,
standing before the gates of hell,
thrashing wildly against
the torrential beat of fucked up sentiments.
Slick madness, cracked
coherence
smashed reality,
light shines bright
from purgatory.
Who will save our vixen, the one who
drinks from a cup of loathsome words,
the one who spreads her secret
fondled by tainted fingers, the one
who dares not sleep, because
eyes always watch?
Sex on her face,
unnerved by gratification,
escapism,
the only option.
Photo Credit: Silentmind8 Flickr via Compfight cc
Each and every word was perfect! You’ve done it again!!
xo
***Escapism***
This is why I write.
xx Appreciation from MN. for your words, darling.
“escapism,
the only option.”
Love love love….poetry so fine. Few words tell a thousand stories. xo