Contemporary Angina
By DikeMent
Scorched across an iron surface With solid fingertips made of gold. Lined with deceased...hearts. Look at them all, Pick one out. Is it mine? Pass it by just like last time. Laugh. Plug the hole, 'cause now its worthless. Shameful ironic twists turn us Into malevolent...creatures. Stare at me, My mirror has faded. Pick at me. Pass me by just like last time. Just like every time. Laugh. Cry softly into pillow, Or maybe into a pillbox. Swallow. You enjoy it so. Just swallow. You fucking like it. Written April 13th, 2002 © on Apr 12 2002 05:48 PM PST 18 • 0 • 1
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"Scorched across an iron surface..."