Cranberry Guts

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
someone who has manipulated others with there own pathetic image has urged me to write these words. I think they have been defeated at their own game. summed up real quickly.

Submitted: January 29, 2012

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Submitted: January 29, 2012

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Cranberry Guts
Jess Hatcher
 
It feels nice
Nice wrapping fingers
about your whole
and your mind doesnt follow
my lips 
will never meet with sole
You laughed
I remember the light at your eye
Showing me clay
Too weak for the grip 
it mirrors up to me now
the drip-
 a slurping vision of you
Swelling by the slip of your brush
A painting so complete
 part of the wall
and you have ideas
much what I like
with the gasp dragging through
Your throat
a trench fizzing red
white shock licking every part
the setting truth
eyes stirring
writhing beneath their shades 
still asleep...
comatose
an unfinished ending.


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