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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Emotional · #1115950
This is about loss of innocence, slightly anachronistic but I write like that sometimes.
She sat alone, young and fair,
Bestowed with golden yellow hair.
He soon drew near and caused her fear,
And from her eyes dripped one lone tear.
"Do not fear me, pretty thing",
Said he, and bade her please to sing.
She sang at last a song of woe
Befitting well her newfound foe.
He placed his arm around her hips,
And brought her hands before his lips;
He kissed each of her fingertips.
Admiring her beauty rare,
His fingers wandered through her hair.
He stroked the silky yellow stuff
Until he thought he'd had enough
He ignored her sobbing cries,
And claimed her as his newfound prize.
He emptied himself in her sweet shaft,
And afterwards he laughed and laughed.
Growing bored, he left her then
To go and join his brethren.
She lay unmoving, alone once more,
Wishing for the days of yore.
Unknowingly, she now did wear
Bloodstains in that yellow hair.
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