Time After Time
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It's a snakepit because paradise is just a tattoo,
where the indigent,
slithers in and out like some revolving door,
where the toughest guards,
don't walk alone,
cause even the delicate ones,
can gut you dry in their awakening,
where Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny are armed,
the bells go off,
and so do they,
when they are in their delirium state,
need the warden out from his chapel to mediate,
his tiled floor is consecrate ground,
keeping the egregious nutjobs away from him,
but there's just no talking to the obtuse.
There's no such thing as a happy ever after Mr. Disney.
~~Sooner or later, we all die.
Date: 08/20/2019
Copyright © Hilo Poet | Year Posted 2019
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