The demon in denim rides shotgun
On the fumes of Southern Comfort.
He bares poison-tipped fangs
As I lean away from a kiss
And he bites into my life
While the rest of me spills onto the floor.
Every night the gash heals,
Just a hint of scarred tissue
Newly presented on innocent flesh.
Mother nurses my deep wound
So he can rip me open again.
I spend the rest of a life
Hiding amongst the living.
- Copyright Dawn Fable 2 July 2011
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