Tuesday, September 09, 2008

The Cook

Put yourself together,
Young Amputee,
Mend the broken pieces,
Sow them till you bleed,

Your,
Just full of holes,
The butchers hands,
are swings,

Screamings hard,
without your tongue,
Red darkness,
the artery sun,

Gushing geysers,
breathless words,
slit this throat,
for a blood stained sweater.

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