This is the new blog...CONFESSION ZERO


Of a street she’d not hope to recognize
In a part of town she’d dare not ride
This rude strumpet weaves her color
knitting a few sluggish epithet

Of a street that she would never tread
On a multi-network of talking heads
She lets loose her sullied split tongue
Licking pejorative red lipped

On streets she’d attempt to feign superior
In a country she’ll soon find unfamiliar
Another blond-rigor mortis bitch of rage
Smacks out a baseless tirade

In a country seeking out its empirical dreams
She prattles on sickly, foaming, obscene
Yet she need lose her unholy bitterness
Cleaving her self-infected carnage

Black Chaos

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