I must be upset. We're into crappy poetry now.
Cocktail
And we played the Devil’s whist
Vying for the touch
Of His holy kiss
While inner voices cried
“We’re going to Hell”
Not quite borne, but not quite dead
While all our limbs
With the wisdom of lead
Coursed with venom
To make us celebrate
And when we’re filled with evil thoughts
Our eyes get wide
As our blood clots
We realize all too late
We’re in too deep.
-K
posted by Keltie @ 1:19 PM
2 comments
2 Comments:
Pfft! It's not crappy. I could write you a poem. Now THAT would be crappy.
Do you need to get out and live it up? I could drag you over to my house and stuff you with weiner. Mostly because we're eating outside tonight since we still don't have a kitchen. XD
(Think happy RHPS thoughts!)
I'll write you a poem:
There once was a bar named Funky.
We went there one night to get "drunk-ey"
You said, "one more?"
Then we flew out the door.
That crazy old night at Funky.
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