Your armpits were emanating from the floor
I feel your torso as my finger graces the armchair
Your very essence was trapped in that blanket we bought at market.
I thought should I try and wash you out of my room
You brought me such sorrow that I could cringe at the slightest touch
I can feel you still crawling up my back as I lay on the bed
So why not rid myself of this infestation?
I still like you.
It's that simple.
I'd risk death from catching some mold than wash you out.
No comments:
Post a Comment