To Shoot a Friend
Self righteous piety reeks like a blanket of wet dog hair,
odoriferous and foul.
Betrayal.
My friend.
Sagging spirit like a pillowcase of drowned kittens.
For what profit to you?
At what cost to me?
We walk this same earth.
Pray your moccasins do not cross the balance point of the universe.
Copyright © Jill Martin | Year Posted 2006
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