We are the tin men
never the thin men
we walk in lines
within confines
never to weep
seek emortal sleep

Crunchy.
Foul dose.
Of a stringy thing.
Stranded.
Strung out.
Hunger pangs.
Not eating that.
Celery.
(c) Livvi

The milk of human kindness,
a bitter tincture to swallow,
hold the nose, sip it down,
malaise caught in a furrowed frown,

never to bite the hand that feeds,
just gnaw at the skin until it bleeds
the masters table has room for all,
fain take our fill from the crumbs that fall.

Could you talk,
To Bite My Fears,
Widely beaming beside.

Ladies of death.
They sit and they wait.
With years of tears they're awaiting a date.
Strung out like ***** laundry, they're waiting for cleansing.
The dusty haze as lights go out.
Heading for heaven, Nirvana or hell.
Corrupted system as no man can tell.
Slamming of cell doors.
Rattling of keys.
Awaiting execution.

Pleas for clemency.
Pleas all ran out.
May justice be done, before their last breath.
Before the setting of this their final sun.
Pray let all the evidence be fitting.
Before the eyes of God the Father.
Openly honest, a proven conviction.

IN MEMORY OF FRANCES NEWTON.
EXECUTED AT HUNTSVILLE 2005
By ladylivvi1

© 2015 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

You're
like....

My
     Sanity

in
   a
       world
   full
          of
            *Crazy