Eleven Pm
My lungs I condemn
I thrive off the mayhem
A perfect picture of hyper fem
With a touch of goth and STEM
Trapped in a gem
I'm motionless
Can't fix my skirt hem
I'm exposed
can't cough up the phlegm
I have nightmares I don't trust the rem
So I visit the ATM
Pull out a Benjamin
Down to the green shop of medicine
I don't fit the regimen
I'm feeding on raw venison
looking right at you; a spike in my adrenaline
I'll swallow up all the best parts of ya
And all that'll be left is skeleton
Yes you're a gentleman
But Nothing more than a specimen
But I study you in genuine
And with you I'm more than willing to sin
I love the silence
don't drop that pin
Fuck the sirens
Let's let the chaos begin
It's not that bad in the looney bin
Honey I Hope you've got thick skin
my fangs always sink in
YOU ARE READING
Dead Doves and Their Pretty Corpses
PoetryA collection of original poems, writings, and laments Hopefully cathartically relatable to those who read it, as you are not alone in this abyss. I am here too. Cover art by: Voidbug on IG
