Smoke Out Death
By pierced clover
What's my worth?
Lower than dirt...
Honor and respect is no factor
Everyday driven into the ground by a tractor
So I smoke pot, I get high
Keeping me a stitch away from suicide
I cry and cry and cut and die...
The tint of red in my eye
This just might be my last goodbye
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Copyright 2005 pierced clover
Published on Friday, August 26, 2005.
Filed under:
"Poetry"