Nazi Death Brain
This is not my shower. I no longer enjoy to shave. While the ghosts outside my window Stare at my naked body, Inside I rant and rave. I push up the roof and the birds fly in Into my deep, dark head. They follow me to my pills at night And sleep with me in my bed. The clouds outside all freeze to death. The ones inside remain. My ghosts draw me near Toward their stealthy spy. A mirror. I no longer feel ashamed Of my rose with thorns outside the windowsill Only of their cheer. My ghosts pick them one by one To bury them in my live grave. Right here in this shower Where I am my own slave. Written August 17th, 2001 © on Aug 17 2001 02:13 PM PST, Katrina Armour 0 • 10
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"This is not my shower...."