your name carved into me. you traced the lines with your finger, rubbing, and the echo of that touch later when i'm touching myself and thinking about it. sharp splinter pain from your knife and it wasn't that that made me cry.
nothing i could have said would have stopped you, then.
1 comment:
Mmmmmmm...both the cutting and the not being able to stop him, even if you would have wanted to.
Absolutely lovely.
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