• t h i r t y - s e v e n • Razor Shape Kiss

Your words are a device,
Your tongue a sharpened edge,
This razor shaped kiss,
Punctuating the air,
Your words are spat,
Like sun across the sky,
Your words that fray,
Strangely between the clouds,
Threads of faecal matter,
Raining down.

If you’ve never thought,
A word before it’s spoke,
It’s meaning is sorely lost,
In the conversational roulette,
We’re all pulling triggers,

But only your barrel is loaded.

The End

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