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Tuesday, March 5, 2013

P.I.F.S.

Poetry is for suckers
It often pokes at your psyche
Looking for holes
That it can wriggle itself into

A tear rolled down the lamb's face
Keeping pace with the progress of my knife
Drawn slowly across it's snowy white throat
It's innocent eyes losing focus as the wound drained it's life

See what I mean?

But wait
What if that lamb was evil?

A red glow overtook the look of innocence
The lamb's head raised up with a snarl upon it's little upper lip
Baring it's teeth that weren't there a minute ago
Lunging at me as I tried to roll away
Burying demon teeth deep in my hip