whoa, I'm fucked up

KwyjiboKwyjibo Posts: 662
here's a better one!

hold the green eye to
the mother
of the fucking
green eye that soon
turns blue when his
Irish blood turns bout
and suddenly that's what
his whole blood is all about

fuck me

when the red hair turns about
and the green eyes twist like
a dark guiness stout

and the red freckles twist
like the morning myst
but you see the british
eyes as the look disguised

cut his face, don't think twice
fuck him up, his hands are tied.
blood and clay fall all about
slippery skin falls in the drought

cut his face, ignore the cries.
your people cry twice as loud!
The most remarkable thing about you standing in the doorway, is that its you, and that you're standing in the doorway.

I write down good reasons to freeze to death in my spiral ring notebook. But in the long tresses of your hair--I am a babbling brook.
Post edited by Unknown User on

Comments

  • ISNISN Posts: 1,700
    when I read poems like this, I worry about my baby......I guess I just worry about my baby sometimes/now.....and I happened to read a peom.....and I just watched most of The Truman Show.....and everything gets twisted.....and I gotta accept that I'm no authority on reality.....and I feel like crying.....
    ....they're asking me to prove why I should be allowed to stay with my baby in Australia, because I'm mentally ill......and they think I should leave......
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