by Eelun Phetmoore
the flesh, it falls
crispy rose shaped piles
smelling of burnt cologne
the maggots come
so they can feed on my pieces
what will they do when there's nothing left?
it matters?
nothing left to remember
nothing left to remember with
no sweet release of death
it begins again tomorrow
Showing posts with label the Customer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the Customer. Show all posts
Sunday, April 14, 2013
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