You know,
I'd like to tell you,
That I'd sell you something,
Nice,
Not pure,
But whose can be?
The world's a place,
Not meant for me,
But I'd sell you something,
Mine alone,
To only you,
Despite the snow,
This thing I'm holding,
Scalding hot,
Subliminates the cold,
The rot,
It isn't much,
But it could be yours,
Something you've never had before,
Just show me that you need it,
Bleed it,
Only if you must,
Rapp the door,
My body crushed,
Beneath the tallies,
All you need,
This thing I'll sell,
To you from me...
My soul.
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About the Creator
Beth Biven
A little bit lazy, crazy, thrown over the bpard for daisies. I am who I am. Who are you?
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