I came to in a corn-field the size of Rhode Island
Under veil of a confused, bobine stupor
Bleared vision through milkey eyes unable to bring form
To the nasuea of my current displacement
I tongue at the details of my destroyed pallet
The ripped upholstery of my cheeks
And all I taste is copper and battery acid
A thick, repungent sickness
All spilling between the spaces
Of my derooted gums
I wish I listened to my grandmother when she tolkd me
Never to talk to strangers.
|All times are GMT -4. The time now is 08:31 PM.|
Powered by: vBulletin Version 3.0.9
Copyright ©2000 - 2015, Jelsoft Enterprises Ltd.