Creative Writing · Free Write · Poetry · Revenge · Sex · Writing


I’m not the kind of girl you can bring home to mother.

I will come over at 3 a.m. and sneak in your bed.

With you on your back and your hair in my hands.

You won’t forget my presence, my lips imprint upon your head.

Still I will be gone before the sun rises.

Like a dream, you can almost remember but can not ever forget.

I am only safe to recall in the dark of night.

The moon is my master and you will run from the light.

When you face actuality, you will know I have won this fight.