Saturday, October 23, 2010

When there are things that are going to hurt you forever

and can't be fixed

what the HELL are you supposed to do?


_______________________________________________


Midas' touch was cold,
but you're a piece, dear,
aren't you now?
Lustrous...
lustre...
lusty...
lust.
I run my fingertips
over your smooth breast,
then knock with my four knuckles
and it hurts.
Don't mind it, dear;
you look good, anyway.
It only matters how you appear
from far away.
As long as no one touches, it's okay.
You'll be my
trophy love.

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