Friday, March 7, 2008

Last Syllable

Last syllable, few minutes to go
Morphed feelings ,help me explode
Hang up the weapon, too tired to prey
Pricked by conscience or so they say

Time for a haircut, the head goes with it
Wither away in the April heat
Peal an onion. How else to cry?
Cry your eyes off and hang them dry

Plug in affection,feel being loved
Tired of dancing, dinner is served
Who’s that staring? Open the door
Fatten your lust and let me go.

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