that night he scrubbed your hands clean twice,
and you still see blood
stuck deep in your pores.
your battle-worn tongue doesn’t say the truth anymore:
that you are ruined.
and you wonder why he lets you
— the butcher
touch him
— the sun
—im a prisoner to who i once was
[by r.j.e.,
found here]
[by sexyseabass]
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