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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

sitting in class on a shitty yet peachy day i decided to write this. i never give descriptions about my actual poems...the reactions arent as thoughtful...

well listen here you're willing

Now Honeychild come home

I saw your father a killin

shovelin' dirt til a ceased moan

He fixed a bit of breakfast

we served your brother's down

with cyanide and arsenic

melted the icecream to the surface of ground

a cryin' and a whistlin'

yell and laughter sparked his heart

as we danced upon the rug

made of her skin, wilted and  dark

your sister died a week ago

she fell in the mix of sweets

the feast was a delicacy, we ate her slow

with dandelions, such a tender tender meat.

your father says his hellos

so very anxious is he

with a cleaver and some pillows

it is honeychild he wishes to see

Submitted: September 24, 2009

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