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Food for the Gods (Clean Sheets and Cigarettes)

September 3, 2013

onehundredandthree

She said;
A little more, a little more.
There’s a wolf scratching at the door.
A sheep, a little girl and a whore.
Lapping at the honey-gore.
So much sweeter than before.
Little pig, little pig, let me come in.
The swine were driven off the cliff.
Now I’m hungry again.

I said;
A little less, a little less.
Perhaps if you’d worn a longer dress?
If you hadn’t been such a fucking mess?
If you’d struggled through duress?
It doesn’t matter now, I guess.
You can’t unring that bell.
I said I didn’t care.
Well.
I said a lot of things.
But I never told you I was there.

She asked if I might still love her.
And I told her that I could.
She asked if this would change things.
And I said it never would.
I asked her, very quietly.
If it had still felt good.
‘Cause she was looking to the sky.
Whilst I was still swimming in the blood.

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From → Poetry

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