Author: Funky Girl


It was dead and they were soft. I plucked them. And in-between my thumb and pointer it felt like the thinnest, most delicate sheep’s ear. As I let it go it glided in the wind, a wing without its body still able to fly.

I’m amazed you taste me sweet

I would say it flows through me


You told me I was like hot honey poured down your throat, you said my pain had the power to lock eyes and you told me I possessed a sickly sweetness. And now as I pour my hot honey down the throats of others I’m amazed that a sweetness could have brewed inside of me, and even if it is…