omega-wolf777

Love did not proclaim itself my savior and wait open-armed under my window at midnight for my suffering to tenderly fall - one last impression upon the mattress like some stranger's bad habits. It did not gun me down in the street or slip a blade to carve my ribs, tabloid lust leaving its fingerprints to console my enemies, my face flatlining against the heavens. It did not roll and toss me into self-made dark or fitful dreams of couples merging knees and elbows like cattle, angry and toiling against the thick trick of disguise Instead it came clean sheeted tucked and cornered - cool and comforting like spring's know