Six pounds of flesh did I carry toward that fancy bath water.
While I've allowed this body what did collect so far.
Vanity cramps my hand; truth above
lies, beneath six feet of earth where buried that chatty banter.
Smiles. I've allowed this body what did collect so far.
Disgusting wobbles of alcohol problems,
courses of action are troubled promotions with a fancy view.
Overcoming the ninth curious time I've allowed this body to die,
666 while vanity lies. Smiles, disgusting. Courses overcoming 666.
Six pounds of flesh did collect toward that fancy bath water
while I allowed her body my vanity cramps.
Beneath lights of sky, her chatty banter, smiles and views
overcome the body's neglect, allowing water.
Copyright © Jonathan Michael Conlon