The Leech

The

Leech.

Blood letting

but ornamental

black horned devil

shiny black exterior

slick with tar

ridged

but with the smoothest of words

the slimy semantics

gasping

hair pulling

Kisses to neck

sucking

Breasts wet with sweat

From caressing to biting

From wanting to leeching

my Hirudotherapy necessity

You were a double standard

paradox,

all in black.

Your teeth latched

to my heart,

A contradiction

holding my throat,

‘I’m no Romeo or Prince Charming,

darling,

Just a black, empty soul.’

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