Saint Poem by Lamar Cole
Saint
Everyone thought that he was a saint.
But behind closed doors, he loved to huff house paint.
This was his way of getting a cheap high.
And feeling like he was so fly.
But he was sealing his own doom.
To be found laying dead in an empty room.
Tuesday, August 28, 2018
Topic(s) of this poem: people,saint
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5/17/2024 2:57:30 AM # 1.0.0.1119
We don't know what is hiding behind closed doors. Thanks for sharing