Tags » Prose 2

I Tire of You

I’ll knit some tubing to,

Drain your Blotto fumes.

I’ll sort savage tidings,

From your forked falsehoods.

Vessels of hell dust,

First blood’s drawn.

Bottles slogged, 23 more words

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She knew the bay like the freckles on her body. The ridged sand moulded to her feet as she fled. It would collapse under theirs. 182 more words