Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god

Red Death

A broken table to
Support the girth
Of my broken words.

I'm a heap of soiled skin,
Boiling in tears of
Adopted loneliness.

An artist catering to
Pathosis minds,
Spitting splinters out of rage
And fostered boredom.

My lips are red death,
I blow you a kiss
To keep you away.

September 3 2009

Comment On This Poem --- Vote for this poem
Red Death

316,348 Poems Read