A Red, Hot Knife To The Stomach

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A way I say
Is the day I pray
I won't pray to you
I won't pray to you
I pray to my time
My time is a fly
But an obnoxious fly that's always swatted
I can't let you know
I can't let you see
That I'm a bumbling, boiling bee
I won't pray to you
I will prey you
I will rip you to agonizing skin peels
I will feed your anger and suffering until my arms and hands are no more
It is our punishment for meeting each other
Now we will be locked in a house of fire
Burning
And burning
And burning
And burning
It never stops
I will never make it stop
You won't pray for me
You won't pray for me

Poems with JasablesWhere stories live. Discover now