Cinder

Run with it.
Just grab your fucking knapsack
and slap the crap out of something
with the stick end
because you’ve got cinder blocks
and we wouldn’t want to hurt anyone
now would we?

It doesn’t matter
anymore who swims with cinders
falling left and right like
some kind of
fucking penultimate time ender.
i am a chalk outline
of something awful.

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Filed under cinder, poem, poetry

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