Hair turned grey
As my nose got caught in barbed wire
I sat & observed asinine beings
Crawl under white picket fences
I swore it was an illusion
The sight of red running bones
Standing in the mirror while baby
Cried its little heart out was sickening
I kept two cents in my pocket
And gave a steady lick of silence
A painting of four open mouths
Waiting to be fed like goldfish
Swimming for feed
Shed like dwarf frogs on a hot day
Put my conscience in a box
Digging deeper, bleeding thoughts
Not suitable for stable ground
© 2011 Anthony Desmond Scott. All Rights Reserved.
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