“I just want your body.”
Leave my head, leave me to my sanity. Let my torture be stopped – images of lips on ears, of whispering words of desire and passion – my stomach is sick from the thought of my yearning. Makes me think how you aren’t worth my tears or my desire. But that doesn’t matter does it. You began this desire like a fire which you have now abandoned to go out of control with no means of being put out.
I’m beginning to hate this line. It is torturing me like a picture book where ever page has the same line with the same picture of his body, rippling with perfected muscles. Oh, and the tattoos! How their blank ink swells my heart.
This line must seem shallow, and to a point I guess it is. My desire has been whittled down because I can’t have more.
