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Guillotine

I lay under the guillotine
            face up,
                  seeing the Gillette
              razor  twinkling
   in the light
of the full
moon;

ready to taste,
taste
             the curdled milk
of my existence .

Cracked leather straps
               of licorice candy
   holding me down smell
so sweet
so intoxicating     causing me
   sojourn among a
plethora o' praises
     of all of the Black Jack
Kehoughs, Kirwins, and Quinns.

But who am I?
                      A dried up leaf
clinging to the branch?  
The last leaf
               to fall before
Jack Frost lets the
          blade maul.
Written by Handcuffs (et al)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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