Surplus Thoughts
counting deaths servants, circling these wayward surplus thoughts. Plucking one by one just
as you pluck guitar strings. Surprisingly beautiful, as they flee from deaths servants. Pulling
out his sickle to slice, slash anything in its path. Raping them of any existanced of mind. How
lovely. I guess I'll take a number.
Copyright © Jessica Stepanovsky | Year Posted 2009
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