your knife cuts at my back,i feel the blood trickle down my spine.you never have the decency to ask
your knife cuts at my back,i feel the blood trickle down my spine.you never have the decency to ask if i’m alright,but i’d just tell you i’m fine.you keep a bottle of salt in your back pocketwhenever i’m headed for the doorPull me in and make me hurti know that’s all i’m good for.your doormat, living uncomfortably below your feet,i always welcome your return.Yet here i sit, filled with remorse,i guess i’ll never learn.Because these footsteps on my backare the exact outline of yoursand the grains of salt cutting through me,feel like glass inside my soresi know i can tempt you with the fruit,but it has to be something you want to take.From there, the rest is fairly easy,but time is something you won’t make.And i can’t help but say i’m sorrywhen the blood is on your hands,i’m the helpless victim,a slave to your commandsi am your puppetyou are my ventriloquist.This is my world and I just cease to exist.Copyright © patientyounglady -- source link
#submissive#domsub#poetry