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A writer is one who creates works of art for the masses without ever asking for anything in return.

Would you rust me?
Would you put trust in me?
Corrode my body, and
brush such a slush of corrosion
upon me, again?

The taste, of rust, so pleasing
to my senses, as it grazes me
the sensation, so tempting
so I fall back in to another
and r e p e a t.

Repetition of such corrosion
has gotten me a little hurtin’
because I’ve surveyed the damage
and, well, the end has come.

Categories: Poetry
Tags: #Life

Comments (2)

  • Beth Winter . June 23, 2012 . Reply

    <3

    • (Author) Bradley Howington . June 23, 2012 . Reply

      I love you, dear. ♥

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