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Francie Lynch Sep 2019
Over the decades,
We've worked it out.
No need for a Power of anyone.
If I go blind,
You'll be my sight.
And so on.
I will supply
What you lack;
And you promised,
Should I *****,
To leave me on my back.
Kit Scott Sep 2018
Give me a storm

I want it

Give me a storm, I want it for myself
I want to hide it in my heart and let it push through my veins
I want a storm to rage through me, tear away all my doubt

Give me a storm, and help me keep it in my chest
catch it in my ribs and crush it against my lungs
until i cough blood and breathe lightning

give me a storm

give it to me

i want it to wash through me with its whirling tumbling rain
and fry all my nervendings
so i can feel again

give me a storm
help me hold it inside myself
until it bursts free free free

and i can run away with it

give me a storm

and ill love you

give me a storm

and ill never bother you again

(i want to choke on the taste of ozone in my mouth,
it feels, by far, the best way to go out)
i know im greedy, but it doesnt hurt you much (you just have to help me catch it in my hands)
And why Deathreat Man don’t senda
second deathreat.  
Man, or mansized jellyfish in a mansized mousuit;

woman, whether tussage worth her weight
in Mexicanvalium (beauty one could only get down the aisle
Weekendatbernie'sstyle, or the average ****** roughage,  
or subject of sexistpigs’ Bernardmanning pannage, that is
going to bed with Lilymarlene and waking up with Lilysavage;

child, even preop sprog behind abdominal
shoji of a WAGgabe, who’ll havta snip her Visacard
once fee for the unneccaesarian has cleared,
and sordid sleb sawbones has (short-)cut  bulbousbonced
bambino well clear of that camino real, her vaingina.
and snipped la vida cord;

pensioner such as Horace Nuhipkiss or Florence Flujabbberwock,
hardly benchpressioners...
But none are exempt:

a good deathreat puts the fear
of the living ******* bejeezus into any demographic
(except those heavyhearted light travellers
on a 1waytrip to that Swiss
departurelounge, but
Dignitasclinic has skinted them out anyway, Skip!).
Francie Lynch Jan 2017
If he says one day, he takes seven.
Does he know it shortens his life.
A two month job takes a year off him.
His runs to the lumber mill, and beer,
To the hardware store, and tokes;
Then to the beer store,
And smokes.
Sometimes, not often, but occasionally,
Whiskey and wine,
With beer.
And the morphine for his back... whew!
Seven to one ratio sounds true,
but poor odds.
In his favour, he's below average
in height,
like a small dog,
it helps longevity.
In most small dogs,
In what we call the Free World,
With government assisted suicide.
There's a call coming in.
George G is building a shed
Out back.
Gotta go.

— The End —