devil blood in gullet
not as fast as a bullet
inyourskull
screams of pain
in pills
or pillows
falling in to bed
scraping eyelids open
reaching for flatulent hearts
covered in cat hair
and remorse
smokey sundowns give certain smiles
piled and infantiled
by fairweathered cunts
stuck in 3 chord operas
wasping the discourse
making the words meaningless
begging for the corruption of your saints
plucking
the hyphens
from green hymens
birthing the fickle tar from the back of they throats
spitting the difference
for what is was never worth.
2/3/12 for b hoffman

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