deepundergroundpoetry.com

Peace and Quiet

More refrigerant for the coffee of the prince and
Wait until the heat dies down the pipings drain
My wounds won't heal but misery shall spread
To my craving company that adores my pain.
Red in my bed, gala head because he's dead.
 
Wicked are the wordy ways of the shadow world
Which wench would Western wills weep with?
Not the one that's six feet under her own dung.
Welcome, the methadone clinic is full of faith
The next needle should be good for my lung.
Written by Josiah
Published
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