Home » poetry » Pretty Boys make Graves

Pretty Boys make Graves


I want to laff

When you forget to say

After

Not arfter

You poor middle class barstard

Of course, you are better than me-

You are pretty, young and male

You speak to me kindly

But your eyes never meet mine

Are you afraid that I might perceive

Your crystal blue lies

Or, perhaps, you fear infection

From the wounds I wear

Outside?

I may be the self proclaimed sooth slayer

Of all unnatural disasters

But your inauthenticity makes me smile

Hope someone sweeps you up

From the ground

Like surplus dust, when you fall

From facade’s hand

Mister-know-it-all

Who knows not

Himself

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