The Guts Of It
J
James McLain
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Non whimsical with this attitude push try.
Dirty hands
up to the elbows, dried blood.
Gas full of gas most guts are.
Gas that smells of the paste trapped inside.
Stabbing O how I stab
freedom from Eve Sir action just the stab.
Up rooted by the bush falling trees.
Have exposed one them all.
And that smell won't washout so why try.
Bu şiiri puanla
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