Thursday, January 8, 2009

a poem

why do i get to much sleep
every single day jesus keep commiting me to be the anti christ
heres a slice
whats the deal
whats the deal
feelin lies on the back of my spines
pumped juices according
lyspinal fluids driving round and round
ground rock bottom
the lake a fire, or the humble aboad
whats next death or eternal damnation
havin dead people talk to me and demons and angels
it must be some ingrate of the dead way

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