Emily

Traduire 13 années depuis

Our love was like two crows picking at a carcass, The passion derived from each gamey tear. Squabbling over who gets the next bite of dead meat from the sun dried bones. Continuously pecking at one another with sharp beaks, Only to determine who will enjoy the next morsel of flesh. Rip and swallow; The corpse is devoured in an instant. Gone and forgotten, nothing remains.