Poison Paper

March 27, 2011
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my lips are chapped
my tongue lolls over them
nibbling on the cracks
I taste the blood creeping out
I like my poetry to be violent
a punch to the gut
crumpling to your knees
have you begging me "please"
but I'd like both halves of my brain to reconcile
their enmity tearing me from head to crotch
my bottom half already being separated
open to the mouths of men and women
don't let them degrade me further
some bodily tranquility would be nice
relocating thoughts to my mouth
I taste the cigarette stains
else forgotten until I smell my fingers
bleeding with the same bitter stench
my poetry is bitter
spreading my anger
allowing my disease to poison paper
I hope it drowns your minds

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