Poem -

Mic

Mic

Golden Child with Golden hair, 
You're styled to break out, 
You're wild! 
I fuckin' care when you sit and stare, 
At memories that've been filed and 
Compiled 
Then dumped in the river, that grave so icy
It fits your deviance so nicely. 
Holy figure you didn't brace me for lips
So shapely, I bet they taste spicy. 
Mirrors aren't for you and I, we're too fly
In a space that inhibits your mind,
Where you take the time to enjoy all the
Savory tidbits.
You're wild! 
You're styled to break out, 
Golden Child with Golden hair. 
 

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