Red Apron This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

February 6, 2010
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This red apron, stitched with thorns
stabbing at my sides
Red as a mad mans face, imprisons my every move
I slave over a hot grill, the black grease
splatters on that red apron
Staining deep within its fibers
That red apron clings to my body, locked in chains around my waste
Time ages those around me, i still wearing that old apron, bound by time
Red as a ripened red pepper on a hot summer day, that apron burns
I never escape that red apron!

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