Friday, August 21, 2020

X Marks The Spot, Debaucher

Somewhere near the whereabouts 
Of the last poem 
You ravished and abandoned 
For lack of a moral compass, 
You’re sure to come across the future 
Ruins of the next one, marked 
By a small white bloody sheet 
Begging you to be oh so gentle 
This time around. 


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