Pain is the skin of a juice burned onto your heart. If ye hurt. Hurt. Oh, thou human. It will be untill many less days under 60 hours that ye shall show yourself until my lovers. Kill, lest ye burn like that juice. And from my promise, soak thyself into I. For thou shalt never hunger nor thirst again.
Dreka
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Soaked Sinner
CATEGORY
just different
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COMMENTS
DallasCowgirl says: Dreka, you be on some other stuff! Your poetry be on point that only the mental can relate to. I love this poem. |
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DallasCowgirl says: Girl, I had to add you to my favorites. Need to be updated every time you post something! |
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Dreka says: Thank u. The poems i make happend in realife but words made by me. |
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