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Thrown up.

Deluded prolls of base exist,
drilling holes with boot and fist,
stagnant souls that dogs have pissed,
clinkered coals the Drayman missed.

Blotted stains upon a pad,
Rosie gains a brand new Dad,
growing pains affect the sad,
spilling brains to make you glad.

Rotting smells that pass in wind,
time it tells the hands have sinned,
hope it yells when it is binned,
fucked in the cells with your arms pinned.

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Comments


  • ravensgift
    December 5, 2007
    Edit | Reply
    Love the aggression.