| Laughter in the Dark
I do reach for the womb.
Urgent itches it induces,
fears to fire the bomb
for I'm mused and amused.
An abuse, overdose doors
closed for roses to use.
Fades away, lost is key,
goes worse single verse.
Tears, tears, it tears
the wear near the gears,
controls of a son, sun
dries for a drink. "Dear,
shoot me twice with drugs,
on rocks, please. Hugs."
Vague. Plague. Lug.
Dark. |
| By
runtime
on May. 5 2007
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| Communities:
Poetry
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