The other night
upon the stair
I met a gal
who was not there
her lips her eyes
cascades of hair
tossed by tempest
shoulders bare
I knew that she
was in my head
she slept in dirt
that girl was dead
it was a fact
not baseless dread
I had removed
her pretty head
the moon shone full
on gamin ghost
I feared that I
would soon be toast
I ran, I tripped
I screamed the most
I snapped my neck
began to roast
No comments:
Post a Comment