And I will only speak of;
brothal-stoic postcards, held to corrugated aspirins
by leech-paste grout.
And of mans clay baked nooses
that hang on epic capillaries to ferment.
And the smell of afro-sheep sliced on cannibal-machetes.
And the taste of tallied black maggots and chemical burns.
I still hate the drums and goggles and peppered hams,
that spilled to hammer into the mustard gas
that would piss from the sheep’s eyes
And kill this room.
I hate this room!















Comments
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Crotch Zombies don't show me your crotch zombies.
Sometimes when I am sad I realize all my heros are gay or cowboys.
You are a bigger disappointment than the crucifiction of Christ.
Campaign to eliminate inferior campaigns. # of supporters 7
not the usual style for me, i was a bit worried about it
Phil
glad u liked it
Phil
Phil
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~I am a poet~
glad u liked it!!
Phil
--
~I am a poet~
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