Posted by Olsen Potter in

May your ears screech
With the creaking of cellar doors,
While your heart echos the splintering of a shattered soul;

May your eyes melt
With tears,
as your skin
sizzles in shame;

May your spit be crossed with Arsenic,
Your tongue, a scythe
That dooms the lies you decree;

May your nose, cascading scum,
Sneeze out the lust that danced
while you fermented in your desire;


May your life be as
A room full of 30 empty chairs;
Love’s casket leading in their lament.

This entry was posted on Friday, September 15, 2006 at 12:11 PM and is filed under . You can follow any responses to this entry through the comments feed .


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