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Glass of Flesh

Poem of the Day

youthfully smooth yet not always transparent some are stained smudged cracked broken with sharp edges,

during winter guilt and regret write names and postcards in breath and light,

each Dawn illuminates the pleading note for forgiveness of barbaric plight,

I am abducted each fortnight at midnight,

to an assaulter's delight,

which stained marked and jaded me into a obscene masochist wallflower that bloomed to like the crude brutal attention,

bruised anus bud like a feverish tulip handled thoughtlessly by some obnoxious former Lord now just a drunkard with a silver plated facade,

each whisper welcomed another crack of the whip against my cheek breaking the glass of my flesh to bleed lunacy and euphoria taunting death for a pleasured euthanasia BREAK ME! BEAT ME! WARP ME!

@nolan keats

Read next: Are We Okay?
Nolan Keats
Nolan Keats

I'm just an individual who happens to write poetry sure I'm probably morbid depressive cynical and pessimistic about various things but yeah anything else simply ask 

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Glass of Flesh
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Are We Okay?