deepundergroundpoetry.com
Naked Raking
Spitfire.
Dirt in my lungs.
Hallelujah,
& the Storm comes.
Chosen,
like ripe
oysters.
Lambs ready for the slaughter.
Veins
pressed against my skin.
Veins filled with
ink.
Hair greased
back.
Smiling as Fate
comes slowly
into
my room.
Dirt in my lungs.
Hallelujah,
& the Storm comes.
Chosen,
like ripe
oysters.
Lambs ready for the slaughter.
Veins
pressed against my skin.
Veins filled with
ink.
Hair greased
back.
Smiling as Fate
comes slowly
into
my room.
Published 22nd Apr 2012
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