I began as
the fluttering in your stomach,
conjured by intimate touch, but
soon the sentiment attached at the sight
began to curdle.
I became as
a festering boil on the skin of your existence;
a regretted reminder of
wasted affections.
It doesn’t matter what
you think of me;
as long as you do.
by Erik Shinker
I love this poem!
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Beautiful poem!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you!
LikeLiked by 1 person