Home And Tired, He Drags His Weight From His Slaughter
He Feels His Burden As He Filled The Tub With Water
He Washes Away His Sins With Soap
While The Water Cleans His Skin
The Bubbles Hide The Blood
Of His Daughters
The Girls He Called His Kin.
YOU ARE READING
Figure 8.
PoetryI Figured If I Did This. I Could Figure Out Whats Next. My Fingers Dance The Figure 8. Thats How I'll Start This Mess.
