Tuesday, January 27, 2009

The Queen of Hearts

dirt under the nails gets flicked out
after scrounging through mud and muck and mess
burying in deep holes the long forgotten promises
i was made
propaganda gets spat in faces, greedily dined upon by most
their cavernous mouths feast upon the feces
simple questions could uncover the mirage of delicacy
but covered too are such questions
why can't i leave the shelter?
gas will come raining down from space to flatten my spine
-off with her head

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