tisdag 20 februari 2018

My body is a temple


They bent their body into position
With that one single mission

Down in a hole without end or bottom
Our poo is made of pure pink cotton

Fake truths are so easy to swallow
Comfortably shallow
Words with soft edges
Raise you pledges

A temple of
fake truth
With the look of youth

Devours of air
Fountain hair
floating from their
superior power tower
They shall let you open
their flower

Healthy glow
A shell of gold
So controlled
So certain
No one looks
behind the curtain


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