he spit the little baggy from his mouth to his hand
I took the prize and dropped it right into my own mouth...
turning to leave the filth of the lower Burnside Bridge,
as I walked away I developed a plan;
I would take my little baggy a few blocks down south,
spit the prize back into my hand, and start to cook...
place the little baggy delicately into a syringe
spit drooled from my mouth as my prize took
Apr 14, 2016
Apr 14, 2016 at 10:24 AM UTC
he spit the little baggy from his mouth to his hand
I took the prize and dropped it right into my own mouth...
turning to leave the filth of the lower Burnside Bridge,
as I walked away I developed a plan;
I would take my little baggy a few blocks down south,
spit the prize back into my hand, and start to cook...
place the little baggy delicately into a syringe
spit drooled from my mouth as my prize took
poetry month prompt 14
'bridge' and 'syringe' are a bit of a broken rhyme, but what the heck....
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