Copyright Joe

Behold the flaggilist who works in thorns, as others, work in oils or in clay the spike tipped leather of the cat it’s reddened claws upon my back, Behold the shattered remnants of a sordid life misused a child i see lies bent and weeping so battered and abused, across a bed in a cheap motel his mind lay seeping down red scarlet ribbons his pain enormous seering white he lays begging to be forgiven, a grande guignol is played out tonight in vignettes written in my mind come nearer now my dear ones as my sanity unwinds


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