PistolA Poem by Allen SkipWelcome to the underworld child, have you heard of me? Stumble down the crooked ways, you'll hear 'em whisper words of me Those people don't talk about me much 'cause it's preferred to be a necessary caution: they're concerned of me, certainly Ripples in the time-space continuum, it's occurred to me Thoughts broken after bolted doors, no burglary Rhymes misconstrue the sounds of me since nursery Snuff the nose candy then commence the vapid surgery At times I belt out violent screams, or maybe just a whistle Cross the wrong line and I might flash you with a signal Enterprises entertain my value every fiscal Got the call of duty diamonds, blood splattered on my crystals Feelin' made youngin' but my ignorance ain't blissful The sordid hands of law have carried me, it's official Foreshadow the mushroom clouds, the snapshot's abysmal when the only word left to capture me is a... © 2013 Allen Skip |
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Added on February 7, 2013 Last Updated on July 27, 2013 |