Poem Hunter
The Disassociation Of Writing
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The Disassociation Of Writing

I read the writing the ghosts left behind
It told me to burn, burn, burn, burn
And it then turned the ice into a demons paradise
enabling them to ice skate over their burning graves
then the music that gave the rattle to my bones began its sick tune
we have an A minor off the fourth lumbar and my head is about to screw off
and you fester after the burn because the writing said so
and go fetch that salad melting pot at the end of the couldsack
because your worth is less than the rising tide
freedom aches and my back is breaking from the rap song being played on my knees
who cares if the bluejay died flying through the forbidden dark
light, flicker, frick, clicker
light is the essence of red and dark is what it is, lonely

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