Idle..sure, I'm resting.. Nesting with death's best intentions, Ina bridal shawl of neglection..
Married to the pain, I'm famished in anguish for the flames.. Burried by the shame, sanity.. Sanity, a saint that scurries from his grave..
Riot or a rave, violence wit a blade.. On my own wrists, I've shown wits but my wicks lit beyond its blaze..
Burnt out, I turn down a good turn out..
Stomping on a ground of promise, I vomit vermin when I purge out.. Certain serpents equal worthless when I serve them.. No servant, venting with a purpose..
A hermit of a wordsmith, airing out a soup kitchen of a conscience in his turnip.. No turban - it's curtains
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You think YOU'RE sick
I shit cough drops
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