3 Deadly sayings of mine:
Here's my stupid myspaces
My page of horrors, contact me here
More poems coming here soon
Your tainted lipstick of colour, bleeding red, See not, your touch, For that man is dead Yet, there's one standing below, with a high pitched voice, playing piano, repeating songs once or twice, We may call this a solo? For clown does not play tricks on staff, except the audience, who scream for a laugh, so, chains will thicken as comedy hangs, sailing the grave stone of our lords commands, forgive thee, truely blades, we only have, so we can praise, as earth shall wreck a summer in sea, you forgive the maker, for making me...
