Your father is still your father. Love him and forgive him as a young child.
The way you were in expectant, resolute delight of his arms around you.
Your father is still your father in his audacious crime of falling in love.
I, his Pygmalion’s statue, his muse, his mistress, his little goth whore,
you see me as nothing better than shit on your kitchen floor
before gathering round the ...
This site uses only functional cookies that are essential to the operation of the site. We do not use cookies related to advertising or tracking. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.
Recent Comments
Auracle on The Quiet Path
1 hour ago
Tom Doolan on September Has Arrived
3 hours ago
Rolph David on My Name Is 'Money'
6 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on Limerick [M.E.G.A. Mayke Engerlund Grate Agin!]
11 hours ago
John Coopey on OLD AGE KICKS
11 hours ago
Auracle on Insane.
12 hours ago
Auracle on A HARD RAIN’S GONNA FALL
12 hours ago
Auracle on Path of an Empath
13 hours ago
Graham Sherwood on Be You
14 hours ago
Graham Sherwood on The Voice
14 hours ago