poem by tom really its by me not from by

Oct 25, 2005 17:43

it's raining cats and ches here in newhope so i'm trappped in my prison cell typing a poem in hopes of sounding interesting i want to know what you think sooooo here goes:
Your soul is as pure as the tap h2o in mexico,
the dirt of our hatred courses through your body so naturally,
like a flaming match to a cigarette.
you inhale and preach your painful pounding pregidous.
forcing your words down my throat, like bad medcine.
faggot.. homo... queerretarddumbassholeshitheaddefectfailure-
until finally your words are poking holes through me turn me into swiss cheese.
and i bleed out molten dairy.
stench clogging the nostrils you turn away look out here comes the molten dip,
my touch will make you foul and ugly.
Previous post Next post
Up