Boil, Cook, Fried, and Baked

form 
in to inflate
soon as my 
arm release 
the grip from the plate

my pen prolonged 
to my heart 
have faith 
again 
i'm the start 
and end of a trace
 
bounce ockward
counts  in dark with 
sheeps in my dream 

boil cause i was 
strip of my fate
cooked. cause i was well
over black 
baked because when you hurt me i just 
stood there and sat
fried cause my skin 
is puffy 
from all the crabs 
i ate

which i'm allergic too.
ain't that crap
Copyright © | Year Posted 2005

Poem

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