Tuesday, 11 February 2020

What am I Writing About

it knocks and swiftly enters 
finding you naked as the day you were born 
you are alone 
for so many dawns have come and gone 
still, you live thinking 
thinking thoughts in disjointed notes 
and when you are not, 
you are baring your soul to the deal 
daring its fangs 
to sink into you 
and take you through 
for nights have ceased appealing 
neither days 
but you don't to be ambushed, and be found naked
or donning torn underpants 

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