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July 28, 2017 / hbrowne4

The Wasteland by Niamh Ryan

A shallow sleeve pulled up his useless arm
As he dare not descend the stair and see the slim arm with the blonde downy hair
Must I anticipate? The wait? And hesitate… my gait
To leave, to depart?
Oh I’d steal a soul to find a heart
Gutted heart can I yield though I am beset with a thick shield
Thickened, bulbous pompous am I?
No I mustn’t dare
I’ll go back down the stair
And to my ego
I must give back
I repent
On the stair I stand and lack
Bones inside to really spend
Pleasure myself in poppies waving gently to me
Calling me I hear Mermaids on the sea
Yellow maidens fair court me
Under the black and white foam
Soak me
Down, lower, down, lower,
Me down under a blue velvet score,
Spores no more
Wet hands finish me off.
Spores no more


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