B Bush
"Get Out!"
Transparent remedies,
a cure to pure to be so true.
The agony,
such parody.
What is the end
to find yourself dead?!
Bleeding sewer soils
wrist red lines
Dead Again!
And if it all works out...
shall you call the time?
Or is it my time to die?
Your time to fly...
To live alone in ruin.
The ruins of emotions,
collapsed.
The agony, knowing the cause,
this treachery,
benign stares.
Conjure the malignant minds of dread!!
Who's to say...?
Who will pray...?
Will it ever be removed...
From this BRAIN!!!!
JUNE 1991
Posted March 25, 1997
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3-24-97
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