Sunday, February 24, 2013

Murder Hotel -A Poem

Carpet stains, an odd mixture of
puke,
blood,
jism,
and grave intentions, a cocktail
of misery

only a few know the taste of.

Watch out for them,
the lowlifes that cling to life out of habit only,
the pimps who see dollar signs in smiles,
the hookers whose smiles are as vacant as a
bank parking lot on Sunday,
devil dogs of powder, fire, and spoon,

the harbingers of the American Dream's
after effects

the putrid afterbirth

a rancid placenta

who act as unwilling guides
for a blind populace 
still dreaming.

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