Sunday, March 20, 2016

Josh Dale- A Poem

Last Rites Are Suicide

A bed of roses with razor blade petals
pricked with blood of the innocent blue
taken to the limit of man,
So jump!
Headfirst Olympic dive
into the noose.
So strive like you want it
‘Inner thigh bites taste like chicken’, they say.
The last meal of every prisoner is peculiar and subjective.

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