Filth
By birksy
Hands with the blood stains, wash, but they don’t go, Run through the scars No flesh to stop the muck. Keep your wits about you – Preservation keeps you – Words are filth to you. Now dark, the silhouettes glisten, you know in the light you’ll be just the same, lie low and softly breathe – hurt no-one but yourself. Written October 11th, 2001 © on Oct 11 2001 10:13 PM PST, Simon Birks 0 • 10
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"Hands with the blood stains,..."