Title Number Four

A hypochondriac's eye bleeds green,
bacon flourishes in the fields of doubt-
Roaches smelling sweetly in the night
-popcorn in the bathtub

Salt of emerald fleeting, still
watching television graveside-
Monsters whispering under the bed
-satellite waves brainwashing us all

When I crawl below, there's nothing there
no hope, no shoes, no underwear-
Demons eating my flesh
-swaying with the tasteful melody

I'm drunk with life, with death, .amen.
the wagon whell of shame-
Honey-mustard drenched fangs
-mmm- chicken.





Poetry by Eight-Feet
Read 706 times
Written on 2005-09-12 at 16:01

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epohonci
okay... popcorn and chicken, sounds like a party.
2005-09-13