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Literature Text
His Legs Are Like Golf Clubs,
And My Knees Are The Golf Balls.
His Fingers Are Like Knives,
And My Chest Is The Cutting Board.
His Fists Are Like Wrecking Balls,
And My Face Is The Wall.
But That's Just Right Now.
And My Knees Are The Golf Balls.
His Fingers Are Like Knives,
And My Chest Is The Cutting Board.
His Fists Are Like Wrecking Balls,
And My Face Is The Wall.
But That's Just Right Now.
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I love how this has a sense of power even though the narrators is being beaten down. Short but blunt, like it.