SicknessA Poem by Tim Lionthere is no cure for me, says Darkness to Ache, as the freight train rolls by like a whisper. the fever runs high, and the shiver runs deep, and I fall, but with nothing to fall on. I begged the white mask like it held a strange god, please exorcise the stench before she disrobes her infection. I’m nose-deep in Hell, don’t tell me I’m well as you doctor my strychnine with candy. just dig a quick hole, my soul needs a rest. I’m infested with reasons to cave in. I’ll eat a live grenade, I’d rather burn up than fade. tell the kids that their Dad was no hero. © 2012 Tim Lion |
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1 Review Added on March 14, 2012 Last Updated on March 14, 2012 AuthorTim LionLake Worth, FLAboutSometimes, when the moon presses her naked chest to my window, and my wife is carving the value from trash scraps, I feel like I may never be able to outshine my finite timeline. And the worst part is.. more..Writing
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