Butchered Little Art PiecesA Poem by James WalpoleWith tender eyes You tenderize me, meat hooks sinking in with the looks that guide the knife that slices with each touch of skin the cold metallic table, unable yet manic falling apart, panic attacking with each touch of the blade, the butchers art, taken from a stable, for the sake of forsaken fables feeble chunks, fragments made into saleable pieces the heart aside a different species in a bucket, It'll make great sausages.
© 2014 James Walpole |
AuthorJames WalpoleBirmingham, Agnostic, United KingdomAboutI like writing things thought I would like to get my stuff out there a bit more and I joined this. more..Writing
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