Cullen Snow - Booze

Lost of all things pure and right;
those simple things for children and sick.
dying somewhat coldly with cruel contempt
we break those that serve and worship those that break.
you laughing and scraping
crawl toward me hold out your shovel to pick.
click your jaws to speak of fate.
kill Me rightly and make it quick
kill me slightly to make it stick.

Cullen Snow

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/booze-3/