A Day Freed From Demons
Vanilla taste with a hint of fire
upon my heart's tongue ~
as all breezes cool and through.
Mystical mental disorder ||-->
life <--|| my lips sew upon
my torn heart//the lungs
worn\\
bright blood superficial/
deep dark = death.
In St. Paul's Cemetary
the little people tend
to the weeds and beetles;
the shallow inscription on
a stone:
ADULTS ARE DEAD CHILDREN
:: 11-06-2017 ::
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