Tuesday, December 7, 2004DisturbedThis clutter on the shelf of my mind Burns like a battery on my tongue Eating my words like acid Delusions of hypnotic intentions I wad up paper balls to feed To my creative animal For he is often hungry for diction He rolls in my offerings, dripping With the sex induced scent Of my storybook legs... Sign in to see full entry.posted by MiaElla at 7:46 AM Comments (3) (permalink) |
