Clean
Crawling in the flesh pool
of an empty town..
shunned by dirt.
covered in my own shit.
the smell of urine and
alcohol gettin mixed with
gasoline and i still want
to remember the faces
but i cant send promises
from hell...
drained by earth, if i had
a story i would tell it. but
i forgot, the only thing i
own an urine stained
madress and a doll without
a head, using yesterday's
newspaper as covering to
hide my existance but they
like to kick the lying..
seeing my last days in
paradise, i guess alone
still on my own, living
on the cadavers on the
rich, like many others
i know, in a abandoned
house ready to crash in.
i wish i could been clean.
not abandoned like this.
but food for the rats.
if i was a another kind of
person, i said to myself
if i was a another kind of
person, i probably wouldn't
sit here, gettin hated
because of my very existance.
gettin beaten because i'm
lying. just my head on a stick.
it's cold outside
i would know.
Poetry by asshole
Read 609 times
Written on 2007-03-25 at 00:07
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Karen Canning |
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Kathryn Watson |
