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.
Feb 19, 2012
Feb 19, 2012 at 5:31 PM UTC
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.
Request permission to use this poem