And the heart exaggeratingly bleeds—as it flows out black as if already dried up before touching the flesh. The emotions begin to stir as if it were your semen finding its way to my seed- against my own will. The sample of your bitter sweetness from your chapstick moistured lips down the smoothest part of my chest as I roam to the tip of your most sensitive- sexual organ- but your only the dust particle remains of fake gold. You’re not worth the value your price tag stated. The cut in my vein that I wish stopped draining me, you’re weakening me as the blood dropped aimlessly down my arm. The mist of your essence disappears, the silence I’ve kept is digging deeper into my lost soul filled with unsaid words.
The fire that I’ve been walking on, burning the soles of my feet, the cement that causes me to drag my feet while walking. Allow yourself to let him fall, let him fall like he allowed you too- to sprain your heart, cast the ashes of your photos in the urn…let it all be buried until it is ready to resurrect.
-Butta Love, the provocative verbalist
