Cained. Poem by Tom Allport
Cained.
My red shirt
Lies crumpled on the floor
The collar still fastened
Sleeves pointing to the door
It's starting to smell
With the fabric stained
I dont remember last night
I must have been cained.
Wednesday, July 12, 2023
Topic(s) of this poem: lies
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8/27/2026 10:49:17 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
