Babies on the wall

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
Just another f*cked up poem I wrote, enjoy. Dont get pissed, its called Dark Humor.

Submitted: March 20, 2008

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Submitted: March 20, 2008



The smell of dead babies in the middle of the night,

Causes me to tingle and makes everything right,

A thrust of a hammer and the stab of a blade,

The rats come out and begin to raid,

Blood is seeping down the walls,

Down my neck and down my balls,

I get a pitchfork and scoop them in,

My extra big bag thats made out of tin,

Throw them in a river, Throw them in the street,

Where-ever I throw them, they will become fresh meat,

I walk home coverd in dead babies blood,

I jump in the shower and wash off the crud,

I clean the room and bleach the floor,

Put back my tools and close my door,

I jump in my bed and close my eyes,

and think of all the babies that had just died.

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