Photo by Jon Butterworth on Unsplash
I have hauled the silt
from the cracks of many bones
and they taste like time.
About the Creator
Ev Kitson
“In the deepest hour of the night, confess to yourself that you would die if you were forbidden to write. And look deep into your heart where it spreads its roots, the answer, and ask yourself, must I write?”
Killing him slowly
There’s an intruder in my house again. He stumbles through the door, wet carrier bags in hand. He’s bought me offerings. I show my appreciation, letting him caress my beautiful body. He wants to touch me. I rub myself against his legs. He sighs, dropping the bags. He can’t resist touching me. Running his hand slowly down my spine, I arch my back towards his caress, let out a low purr. It’s what we both need.
By N J Delmas7 days ago in Horror
Comments (1)
OMGSH, I love this. Such an ominous feel