Good burns there

Hell is hot and I sweat in it
like hogs can’t, them too rooting
next to me on the pick and choose.
No flowers here, no kisses, no whiplash
people once gave themselves for people.
All shit, as the atmosphere is as
sad as bass, as lily-white girls
I never admired who bed me down.
The bible throws its pages here
and is the backbone of Hell, it smells
of a woman who knew it once but once
fell asleep outside. She is friendly
and murderous, a beauty grown hag
that hushes all these winds
from the drums of my head. Now though
I will lay under what I sought
who is porcelain male and dead, is not
anything like I figured fire would make,
like anything I saw that was not desirous.

~ by Jeremy on January 13, 2011.

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