Dead Meant Talking

can starve these bones
till it lost its head
choke this breath
with a chest of lead

scorn the poor
and rich alike
like rain falls in
the day or night

fill these hearts
with
a blinding hate

then let us all go
at
the starting gate

tied up in our freewill
and sharpen our scenes
all us dead men walking
with no extra expenses

been a long time swimming
blind and short of breath
angry at the blindness and
sucking up the mess
Saturday, October 7, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: words
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