I need to leave this place.
They call it hell sometimes
Or life.
Infinite. But I need more space
For creativity; some deadly crimes.
One knife.
Impossible. Our vomiting human race.
Bloodsucking; it slimes.
Our wife.
I need to rip my face.
Your poem never rhymes.
My strife.
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 4:09 PM UTC
I need to leave this place.
They call it hell sometimes
Or life.
Infinite. But I need more space
For creativity; some deadly crimes.
One knife.
Impossible. Our vomiting human race.
Bloodsucking; it slimes.
Our wife.
I need to rip my face.
Your poem never rhymes.
My strife.
