Poem -

CRAZY IS JUST THE NICKNAME

I keep a famine on a leather lead
close to the thief it never feeds
a red muscle in a rib of bone
that thieving heart

crazy was a nicknamed girl
straight from the shaved heads of other worlds
caressed nights
fought in  barroom toils
never fed on any fallen spoils
splinters gather as they would
collected clouds
in heavens hood

raged and aged lie
strides amongst strobed plight

Feather in the final fall
light at first
dawn its call
now heavy that grace
crushed and wasted sight
and death my only flight

lovers gasp weaving scent
creating cloth
worn in wearing
stretched on razor tongue
this river
this echo blood
this aged rage
is almost done

Crazy would always draw
scars on a wooden floor
nobody knew that scratch
it eased a portrait
yet a mystic wand
flees into a broken nail

all which hung
all is hanged
CRAZY WAS THE NICKNAME
CRAZY DREW THE PLAN

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