A poem a day
Keeps the mean reds
At bay
And the hammer falls
sickly
wheat whoosh
muffles
and flesh wound
troubles
Does your depravity
Walk free?
Have your means
Ended?
A red balloon sits beneath my heart
pericardial sac
And you're the prick that airs me out
It's never coming back
Your ring, it had some syrup
Beneath the stone set
A note, backpacked
A hushed relax
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