Saturday, February 18, 2017


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

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