Sleep lucy

The mind in its most fullest of forms,
 can be a treacherous beast 
A thought is just a thought is just- 
“Maybe when I’m sleeping he turns my insides into my mother's famous spaghetti

And you are your weakest brand when your body sleeps even the yours in this sentencing can't reach you.

Whore, bitch, slut 
Lay there and he’ll swallow you 
Leeching revolting beast 
Lonely 
Lonely alone 
Lonely you 
Lonely together
A man withdrawn from sex eats longing like this for breakfast my grams used to say
Once he's had a taste it becomes a drug and his body craves the idea of rattling another woman's bones again even if it's the unwanted kind 
Even if she's unaware until it's too late and the birds start to sing

Copyright © 2017 by Angela Farley