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Showgirl

this death will be the life of me

patches in the sky

we used to call them clouds

before the bombs went off

and canopied us in a toxic shell;

the artist swapped his brush

for a brick

and threw it in tantrum

from a distance

at some cheesy idyllic canvas

and despite our decaying teeth falling out

with clumps of hair and skin

you slipped out of your negligee

a little too easy tonight

dystopianlife

◄ Man On A Train

Therapy ►

Comments

MortimerBlooming

Sat 20th Jun 2020 08:02

Clive, I have read both of your poems that you have posted here,

I am a big fan of both of them they are quite dark yet inspiring and they disturb the beating of the heart.

Keep writing

Mortimer

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