The real s**tA Poem by fattycbreezy52You think there's only one type........????? I guess there are lot more
Bruised all over,
Intense medication required. Blood oozing out of the minuscule pores of misery Doing a samba dance, weltering and tossing on the lateral sides. When asked it says, "Go with the flow, baby" A nasty sausage trying to make it's way into the real Macmuffin, Fidgeting under the underpants, Looking for the answers to some unsolved mysteries. Lying like a brute, Without even opening the shoes, while, in bed. Sucking the blood from an opened, dissected chicken And spreading it all over the floor, Playing the nasty game of Detective Conan. And I threw up, Like a hot lava emitting itself from that nanoscopic hollow eternally. There is no Period, no full stop. Little bugs decomposing that filthy scar, Deepening it all the more Until no scrape is left behind. Shitting that branded wedding dress out in the open just because you did not get a washroom across the street. What money and what celebration? S**t gets the better of the situation Leaving you pale, like a moron. And you are absolutely open, Like a dead body Ready for the process of necropsy. While the docs are busy having a real liquor tinged with your sparkling blood. © 2015 fattycbreezy52Author's Note
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3 Reviews Added on May 15, 2015 Last Updated on May 19, 2015 Authorfattycbreezy52AboutMusic,dancing,singing,acting,dubbing,writing and playing with voices are my areas of specialization/existence. Being a Literature student,my love for Keats,Coleridge and Blake led me all the way to t.. more..Writing
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