My mind's tired from writing too much poetry,
I'm ready for its death, like I poisoned up its ovaries.
Killed the fetus, before it was even near its blossom,
I put it in the ground, like the burrow of a possom.
It tried to rise up, I shoved it back into its coffin,
Regurgitated dust from the poem's mouth when it was coughin'.
I hacked it with a sledgehammer, now it's down for ever,
Then I put myself in the coffin, too, so we can go together.
No comments:
Post a Comment