Sin

Those words to me are useless like dry leaves

hands that have withered against the life they served

Swaying catching the light tempting love tease

Now emptiness and pain of wrenched muscles shelled

Consumed by the heat and deceit of a sweet face.

Sin.

The empty taste that can never be consumed.

 

If you like my poem, make sure to let me know. Leave a comment with something you’d like me to write about next.

-Somiya

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