by Elizabeth C., 17
The social contract’s been signed;
this must have been a fine print line.
So really, I asked for this.
Lust boils over their lips
and a flame that I must have lit,
burns like a wildfire.
I can cry about the burn,
but I used to beg to be warm.
Isn’t that just what this is?
Exton, Pennsylvania
Bridge Ink 