Replying to a comment on:

Morphine Cherries of August (Lyric) by horus8

Who's to say why I play With a poppy everyday Let's not worry for my follies Nor for you'se and your blow-up dollies I hafta sleep to be a creep In your daughter's window I peep then leap. I build a box and then unpick locks That thieves left behind amid those red rocks I thought that I was there to remind you? Today I found out that you were dead Four days unfound between your couch and bed The flowers in your vases were also dead, and slumped over. CHORUS It was the morphine cherries of August It was the morphine cherries the sun Morphine cherries of August you come undone. Your dead rat Ed's ghost was laughing and floating Around outside your old front door I hope you never felt like a whore? You were a helluva chaotic person like me But with a cunt and tits you see You topped off your speed sundae with a morphine cherry You were the first girl That let me put it in her ass Therefore, we both got off so damn fast You could out drink me, out fuck me But you couldn't cook for shit. CHORUS I told you that your dream of being a beautiful flight attendant was weak and thought out poorly But who was I to lessen your aspirations? And nullify your desires! Now it's too late to apologize Why couldn't I just agree with a smile? And kiss you for wanting anything other Than what you already were I am a beast-man with tangled wolf fur Your death is the downfall of my logic Everything I claim superior is now inferior While you've been planted in the Earth's interior CHORUS IMPROV My attempt to heal you Was instead proof That I don't feel For anyone but my self Me, and my big mouth Are surely doomed to go south Straight past go without collecting a dime And no amount of time Can ever bring you back That card you gave me With an angel upon its cover Has disappeared In the hand of your spirit While my front door swings unclosing In an unfelt wind's erratic motions. To Denise I'm Sorry Love JBH. 8-98

Bachus 30-Jul-02/10:06 PM
And you call me a "sick red-neck". You are a sick letch of a sociopath. Good luck with therapy. Too bad for Denise's immediates. You probably listen to Pink Floyd and think you're deep. Huh. I bet you do.




Track and Plan your submissions ; Read some Comics ; Get Paid for your Poetry
PoemRanker Copyright © 2001 - 2024 - kaolin fire - All Rights Reserved
All poems Copyright © their respective authors
An internet tradition since June 9, 2001