Poetic Endeavours Are Not Meant To Cure Us. Part 7-Humane Echoes.
Lacerate the boils from resplendent shades.
The skeletal wolves tremble from nose to tail.
Vomit soaked in blinded lips.
I echo the thoughts of a maniac.
But they differ greatly.
For I am more or less humane.
Copyright © Daniel Corcoran | Year Posted 2010
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