poetry

stone faced killa

your mouth is an automatic

weapon a full body

assault

little lamb, lost and delicate

tender meat, your

velveteen lungs

ripe with violent intent

or maybe not?

your mouth is an

elevator stomach

drooling, wet corners of

your mouth

your mouth!

who gets thanksgiving?

who gets Christmas?

unholy mouth,

it might as well be foaming!

baby lamb I crush you, hook

you, heat you up and

cook you

keep it to yourself next time

don’t forget I

know your

mouth

Standard

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