are we gonna have sex or are you going to continue to like my posts
The blood moon was burning bright,
and you were face down, hopeless.
Unconscious anticipation, skin so white,
and where was I to be found?
No one to salvage what’s left of you
as you lay face down, hopeless.
An opiate void, possessing you,
and only steel death, abound.
To some avail, your cries were heard,
left face down, and hopeless.
Recollections of happiness, blurred,
Foreshadowing that you’d feel let down.
You’d asked me subtly, to lend a hand,
before faced down and hopeless
Time and dust, will help us understand,
while the guilt remains profound.