Worn
She was a muse
In the hands of those
Who handled her poorly
Who built castles in the sky
Upon her shattered smile
With the fractured pieces of her heart
Without regard for her unguarded while
To devour her like used rags
And recycled paper
“SHE WAS A MUSE IN THE HANDS OF THOSE WHO HANDLED HER POORLY”
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It occurred to herMoments into her resolveDuring the eve of her awakeningThat battles were mad
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Let me capture you In the spread of the momentAs the light brushes against your face
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Like unleavened breadHe masturbated to the call of her cum on his fingersFolded and molded itI
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