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Misogynist
#1
Two red eyes are stuck to the black
of my childhood, in the foreground of the frame,
my stereo and dirty books hovering behind.
Since nineteen I've been tunelling back
through the months, then years towards
her body like a lone island.

When we met on the patio
your bracelets caught the sun. Fugitive beams
bathed in your glass, propped against the dying ice.
And I had tunnelled all day long
to reach you there mother,
hiding yourself in this prettier form.

All women share the same spirit, like the strain of some disease
ploughing through the rat kingdom.
So her, the bitch, creator and scum,
who bore me like a dead tumour,
flows among your bones.

Your punishment is still a germ, evolving all the time.
Regardless what you say, my dear, you're her, you're her, you're her.
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#2
nice one,Jack,always a pleasure to read you
consistency is the hobdob
of small minds[
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#3
Thanks, SJSmile
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#4
(04-12-2012, 10:42 AM)heslopian Wrote: Two red eyes are stuck to the black
of my childhood, in the foreground of the frame,
my stereo and dirty books hovering behind.
Since nineteen I've been tunelling back
through the months, then years towards
her body like a lone island.

When we met on the patio
your bracelets caught the sun. Fugitive beams
bathed in your glass, propped against the dying ice.
And I had tunnelled all day long
to reach you there mother,
hiding yourself in this prettier form.

All women share the same spirit, like the strain of some disease
ploughing through the rat kingdom.
So her, the bitch, creator and scum,
who bore me like a dead tumour,
flows among your bones.

Your punishment is still a germ, evolving all the time.
Regardless what you say, my dear, you're her, you're her, you're her.

Well reading this gives a deep start to the day, thanks. I thinkSmile
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#5
Thanks for the comment, snillocSmile
Reply
#6
(04-12-2012, 10:42 AM)heslopian Wrote: Two red eyes are stuck to the black
of my childhood, in the foreground of the frame,
my stereo and dirty books hovering behind.
Since nineteen I've been tunelling back
through the months, then years towards
her body like a lone island.

When we met on the patio
your bracelets caught the sun. Fugitive beams
bathed in your glass, propped against the dying ice.
And I had tunnelled all day long
to reach you there mother,
hiding yourself in this prettier form.

All women share the same spirit, like the strain of some disease
ploughing through the rat kingdom.
So her, the bitch, creator and scum,
who bore me like a dead tumour,
flows among your bones.

Your punishment is still a germ, evolving all the time.
Regardless what you say, my dear, you're her, you're her, you're her.

I read this at TPP . . . glad you posted this here. One of my favorites of yours.
Wildcard is awesome.
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