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Whiskey Wednesdays

This ******* heart beats thrice per second

Pumping in and pumping out the black tar from my lungs.

If the body is a temple,

Then I have abandoned mine

No one now kneels in this void.

Baptized in whiskey,

Circumcised with a machete.

It’s no coincidence that,

I was born on the full moon

In the midst of a hurricane.

Learning how to eat with no spoon

But this is who I am.

We each have a cross to bare

Mine’s just covered in scalpels

Sharpened bread knives,

That draw wrinkles on my face.

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Written by
kenneth-springer
Venezuelan
Published
May 29, 2013
Lines·Words
16·94
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