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Replying to a comment on:
Puerto Rican Tequila (Free verse) by Don-Quixote
silent screams escape
wrinkled parched lips
curled in a grimace
of pain
liquid drips from
the tequila bottle
to numb the mental process
i now posses the cure
fuel to lure the flame
of joy, yet now i cry
still, unable to get my fill
smoke clouds my vision
i don't wish to see again
that static TV
roaring advertisements from
greedy whores that drool
for my recycled green paper
the methamphetamine vapor
curls from the glass pipe
into the highway of blood vessels
one way road to the CPU
rewire and amp the programming
the radio sings
my techno hell opera
attempting to grasp the cosmic
vanity of humanity
broken tiles, my incomplete puzzle
I'm left a rotten corpse
my skulls gray flesh sizzles
its the cannibals barbecue
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