Well good bye
i dont wear decaffeinate
or definite sayings,
P.S
you think
i'm the devil
The End.


Through the spitt
i spatt on us
i am dressed in rose petals
swaddled and cherised
a dove that found a piece
of his heart in a furnice
tired and teared with
amulets that let light casacde
on your hipps
and lipps
and warm spring
deep green
pasterized and kept
close
call me my indian princess


So whose delusion is it?