- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Trash
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You grew three feet that day! Broke my heart in seventeen places. I picked it up off the floor as your shoulder skimmed mine. Passing in the day is worse than passing in the night. Was I was trash meant to be thrown once it is used for you too? My stomach stays sick with that implication. I should forget but when the memory is braided in every memory the only thing I can do is wash my mind clean. That would require taking it out of my head and there's no coming back from that. Somebody tell me what to do. I get the sadness and remorse. Was forced head good head?
