<b>Lay on top of me, I long for every fiber of your body to be close to mine, I consume you, enflame you with my body heat, drench your soul with my </b><i>tears</i><b> you will thrust, move out and in, and back again, we will conceive, the most solemn child, born out of our lust. I will wear our shame like a scarlet letter, I will fair my share of stares, through the</b><i> loneliest</i> <b>and </b><i>coldest</i><b> of weather... You lay on top of me, and we'll do... you hate every bit of me [as we screw...] Not a glimmer of me in you're heart to hold, I am not a part of your mind as we mold our bodies into one and you thrust... leaving me love starved, as if you must, I drown in your sweat and suffocate in our dirty sheets... carrying a child of lust.</b>
Reason for writing:
Is this poem fact or fictional? Autobiographical or what? Hmm ...
Birth sign: Libra
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