Cheap Flamethrowers - Gord - Aspoet
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Gord

2018-08-10 05:27 pm
Nails filed to the end,
Sun setting in the distance,
I scratch and claw endless,
Failing to find a coin to spend,
Flailing to mind my business,
The new owner Olympus.

Perhaps I am but foil to him,
Poetically our lives akin.
Though he sees me boiling pans,
Loud as thunder in soiled pants,
Sent on my way out the door,
Rather than embarrassed again.

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