Tarantula

Her kisses are marked,

into his neck.

 

Bright red bloodshot tattoos,

Against his pale beige skin.

 

Then my lips burn,

With the emptiness,

Of the spark,

of his.

 

And I’m stunned,

with the weight of youth,

then the crippling sensations,

of loneliness.

 

That only beauty can bring,

when paralyzing you.

 

He is an insect,

With ruthless incisors,

Injecting all in his vicinity ,

With the venom of his beauty.

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