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I might be dead, horn-fed poultry. Pluck me leave me cold and bumpy. Eyes gone slimy, Feet still trying But I'm still your love. Keep salting.
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Feb 19, 2012
Feb 19, 2012 at 5:31 PM UTC
super-creep
Giblets: a short poem
I might be dead, horn-fed poultry. Pluck me leave me cold and bumpy. Eyes gone slimy, Feet still trying But I'm still your love. Keep salting.
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