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Post by Laura on Mar 31, 2007 17:41:18 GMT -6
a/n: a poem about John Wayne Gacy and what's behind him. If you want me to put a rating on this ... I'd go with R ... so don't read if you have a weak heart
Beneath this Floor
a huddled cry for help would be murmured under dirt if only these bones could talk after death
first a boy then another the bodycount does rise crowded almost f**k**g each other dead and covered
go dress up: Mr. Party CLOWN see the little fingers think how good they'd taste between your teeth and how tight
he would be without you between his cheeks
the scent of rotting corpses of young men doesn't bother a fat nosed belly lint picker with a revolver and a snake the size of Texas that can enlarge the smallest hole
were they only masks to try on and discard one after another
always touching almost f**k**g even in death
when the dirt became too occupied
a river was put to use nature has so many places for raped boys to hide
they were suffocated from the weight of an older man touching pushing tearing the skin
breathing in the cries like fresh air above an avalanche
that isn't snow
cumming down...
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Post by Absinthe on Mar 31, 2007 22:36:54 GMT -6
Whoa....not sure what to say about this one. Intense definitely. I just don't know other than that.
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