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Gypsy

You try to scratch the depths of souls but you only hit the surface and end up with skin under your nails. Bloody wounds and crying lovers that is all you have left to show how hard you love. Dig those nails deep into backs and press them into faces to force smiles. Dimple those cheeks with your hungry fingers, they seem to destroy everything you touch don’t they sweetheart?

Have you ever though about loving laissez faire, and caress souls before you caress thighs. But what do I know, with my bloody nails and scratched up hands. It’s time to make a change from your normal antics, time to break from your normal stories of heart break and tragedy. You say the grass cut your feet but tell me why you walk barefoot. Tell me why you bare back flesh in hopes someone will water your pathetic excuse for heart with tears of love. Tell me, please, do tell. Tell me your tales of how the witches tricked you with a gilded apple and now your scared to bite into the cores of fruit. Shout it to me so that I may feel the vibrato in your voice, but know I am not going to fix it. I will not let you scratch my tongue for the words I hold under them. I will not allow you to scratch at my collar bones because I tell you all you’ll end up with is skin under your nails and another broken lover. I promise you I am not the princess with the shimmering eyes you long for. I’m the gypsy you lust for with pursed lips and retracted claws. I will entice you and draw my shawl over your face to pretend to press my lips against your mouth, but I am not the one. I can promise you that much.





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