POETIC TREATMENT Don't go round chasing bullshit on your face, wipe it Know your own scar, activate the time bomb, blow it Stare, stare at the earth's satellite When legs are void and chilled by the neon delite When ears are tired, mouth goes automatic And too many desires makes you look so pathetic For this is the night when Cleo had her first screw captains are dead and new born babies are drew.
Reason for writing:
Philadelphia Cafe, where desperate poets hangs out
Birth sign: Aries
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