Natural pigment

Lily-white me I show many a mark.
I seemingly gruel to procreate the little
French cat that crawled into my throat
and laid down for a while, only that.
This cannot profile a man who sat
for twenty years dreaming in narcosis,
the yellow sleep no haunts inhabit.
Poor confessor me, a creature of habit
that daunts his own reflection for
whatever scrawny reasons I want more
of in my lonesome coterie. Stretching,
oh loudly, stretching to a pristine zero
that wraps its slinker arms over me
with its fingernails clapping a future out.

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~ by Jeremy on May 30, 2012.

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