deepundergroundpoetry.com
Living hell
This house remains a memory,Of dreams once dreamt up by you and me.
Like you this house is empty, empty where love was once plenty.
A house that you wished to hijack, by simply lying upon your back.
A house whose memories are stained forever more, by the memories of a cunning whore.
Like you this house is empty, empty where love was once plenty.
A house that you wished to hijack, by simply lying upon your back.
A house whose memories are stained forever more, by the memories of a cunning whore.
Published 31st Jan 2019
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