Lit.Org - a community for readers and writers Advanced Search

Average Rating

(1 votes)

RatingRated by

You must login to vote

Down your throat
You pull me
Under your
Broken water
And I am the fish
Flopping around
With the hook on my lips
A thorn in my side
A chip on my shoulder
But when I was little
I never played with blocks
I dusted my pockets
With dillusions and chirping crickets

"Pretty girls make graves..." -Jack Kerouac

Related Items


The following comments are for "Fondling One"
by MerryJayned

Add Your Comment

You Must be a member to post comments and ratings. If you are NOT already a member, signup now it only takes a few seconds!

All Fields are required

Commenting Guidelines:
  • All comments must be about the writing. Non-related comments will be deleted.
  • Flaming, derogatory or messages attacking other members well be deleted.
  • Adult/Sexual comments or messages will be deleted.
  • All subjects MUST be PG. No cursing in subjects.
  • All comments must follow the sites posting guidelines.
The purpose of commenting on Lit.Org is to help writers improve their writing. Please post constructive feedback to help the author improve their work.