Mind Games


Do you think you are a good person,

you demand of

the liberated me

your scream


between the porous legs of present and past

 as you carp about terror, truth and stunted lives


as you try to saw through my last nerve


as skinny, slant eyed

whiskey whores

parade through purple haze

gorge on your coffers

tramp through your lies

nightmare channel

briefly appeasing you

with their sweet meats

and clotted cream


as the clock strikes past twelve

as you curse in bold print

drippingly swear

that you

are a good person.


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