Skull fucked into submission, nobody speaks an ounce of truth, but they can sure spew that bullshit.
Everyone's got a hustle; let's pull the grenades pin and seek shelter behind some tight-bodied teens' paywall.
I won't cash in my dignity for a go-fund me, but I will most certainly drink myself into the grave.
Man's desire to claim everything that is just beyond reach.
I crave nothing but silence like a cemetery, and only my thoughts alone to drive me insane.
I may shoot Clorox to cleanse my arteries because my soul is fucked.
Never sweat the decay. The earth is cold, as so is a corpse.
My cough syrup paired well with the gasoline I huffed.
I treat my brain as a test subject.
I am dying to learn the results.
Crashed the course straight into a brick wall.
I'm only temporarily brain-damaged; in other words, I'm probably okay.
JPR, is a southern gothic writer, his work has been published in Lothlorien Journal Of Poetry, Fixator Press, Impspired Magazine, Spill The Words Pres, Disturb The Universe, Fearless Poetry Zine, The Dope Fiend Daily, Horror Sleaze Trash.
His newest book is Midnight Masochism from Black Circle Publishing available on Amazon.
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