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For Taylor

Night-shaded worms
In a crippled, rotting room;
Just a children's fable
Through the over-working looms.

They spawn the epic tapestries,
Spun of bone and demon's boon,
Just another lackluster disaster,
In a tiny, swelling, decaying spoon.

Sprouting high:
Our black bean-stalks.
Bouncing around is
The dark-gutted talk.

Ebony blind-folded,
They stumble their club-footed walk.
Stacking together while apathetic,
Their s**t-smeared, papery faults.



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HaleyS. said...
Feb. 15, 2012 at 6:32 pm
It sounds strange but just try it. Study the words closely and you'll get it. DON'T BE LAZY! Comments&rate
 
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