POETRY OF THE BROKE

15. Harlot

Fear wears torn on her own front door, spurs against the floor, murder no more, caskets behind the door, Neal Armstrong and Michael Jackson's Thriller song, back in 1988 when the ink bled, when I swore I was born, manger where the chicken fed, so innocent, eyes bleeding black goo cause I bludgeoned it, I'm a harlot or whatever you wanna call it, the name Johannson de scatlott, put down the armlet, out of brains make an omelet