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.

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.

Submitted: March 20, 2008

© Copyright 2021 Twisted Reality. All rights reserved.

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Add Your Comments:



*blech* That is nasty, dude! Nevertheless, very well written! You've got very good poetry skills!

Tue, March 25th, 2008 6:01pm


Hey dear author ! this is liaison, an editor from I just read your book .I love it so much If you wanted to see whether you can get paid by distributing the current work or getting financial support by writing new work, you might want to contact ? A brief introduction, some sample chapters or links will be appreciated when reaching out.

Sun, October 11th, 2020 2:00pm

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