your poem is deadA Poem by thespaceinmybed
it floats
face down shame building in its bloated form you can poke it with a stick turn it around trying to find a side a bit more interesting but its what you would expect a gruesome picture of something trying to breathe but not succeeding it poisons the water here so please keep your pollution to yourself no one wants to inhale its putrid wretched nonsense
© 2013 thespaceinmybed |
StatsAuthorthespaceinmybedLos Angeles, CAAboutingenious my idea of stripping thoughts from your skull like peeling oranges more..Writing
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