Get Your Premium Membership

kiss of death from the Hair Gun

it spits out the thinnest of dead creation paining the one with its deadly stinging kiss cry out, no not me for i am but a colored crazy slave with the letter of P. for poor and the letter of B. for the unbelieved but i must bear it just like so many who have before me they don't tell because who would believe

Copyright © | Year Posted 2010




Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.

Please Login to post a comment

Date: 5/25/2010 4:22:00 AM
well done, i won't tell, enjoyed,..p..d
Login to Reply