Feeble sex
Afraid and crying
In the wrinkled shade of the canyon

Rhythm stolen
He slowly fucks the love back inside

A grimy wrist swings limp in the stale air of her forgotten castle
Once the author of tangled charity acts, polished immortality
Now, some belated chick

Camaro snarls penetrate from out on the blacktop
As the blanket creeps, pilled up, over goosebumped flesh

My mam emailed me to say she’s too thick to understand this. Which actually makes her really smart because it’s assemblage. I just find the most used words on Hello Poetry – a corpus of love and sorrow – and look for interesting patterns. This kind of writing is only asking you to find your own meaning in the meaningless nonsense. It’s your Rorschach.

Am I right? Tell me!

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