Poems from Neftee
Farm these bodys, and harvest these men!
We are a nation of tax producing hens.
Free in this pen, the field hides our fence.
The illusion...
Your tiny hands rap around my throat.
They reach and grope like hangman's rope
to break a neck already broke.
snap crack and smash these...
We touch, I feel it sink in like dirreah.
"I love you"
those words squirt out like icing from a frosting tip kit,
but like a blast of...
I spun a web from death bead threads.
those dreaded ends of sheets to shreds.
If you see the way that I am going,
My friend you must know...
Whether it comes or go's
Whether it withers like flowers
Whether it differs like fire and snow,
where you go I will follow.