deepundergroundpoetry.com

I'm A Pulpit
My mind is the burial place
running from insanity shadow
not a haunted old house
to be cloaked in madness
thinking I'm a pulpit
lusting for the dowager's blood
where her kisses bleed
like a crimson piquant
by the ink of my quill's cane
running from insanity shadow
not a haunted old house
to be cloaked in madness
thinking I'm a pulpit
lusting for the dowager's blood
where her kisses bleed
like a crimson piquant
by the ink of my quill's cane
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