Wednesday, June 23, 2010



The cloud of crack smoke layers
thick and sweet enough to decay
the strongest man into a yawning hole.

You are a zombie chasing a ghost;
sucking on glass chimneys, smoking out
your soul from its once fleshy home.

The man in the mirror is a mirage
and your loved ones are coin machines;
insert a few false promises, and your fix will flow.


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