Pure kill.
I pull out the shivering
heart in my eyes.
A rising sin. I will
not forget you, never―
your tongue bifida.
And a real―
murder of a blue-green cow
reared for religion.
That sucks. The
numbers, the lies and
the terrible abuses.
The shadows are
lengthening and you were
becoming small.
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Author:
satishverma (
Offline) - Published: December 14th, 2020 20:43
- Category: Nature
- Views: 13
- Users favorite of this poem: A Boy With Roses
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