So many years
I've dragged these bloody knees across dirt floors
Working for less than a poor man's tears
The poppies grow in fields galore
But none will touch my lips, for escaping from pain
Is not in my cards
To fold two three's of spades, I'd think insane
The hand I was dealt was full of glass shards
While the flop is of hearts and face cards.
Pleasure is pain when you work for a living
But I do what I must just to get by
Working the streets is always degrading,
Don't mock, one day, I too will have poppies to fly
When apple trees die, and their fruit is rotting
What will you be taking?
I will be washing my knees and putting on stockings
While your scabs will be breaking












Comments
this is intense...
and i love the way i can relate it to my work....(which probably sounds vain..but isnt meant to..)
i have a poem about bleeding knees that i drag upon shards of glass..or well more like shards of dreams..
but ures is good stuff...especially about the poppies...
but then again no one can take the poppies away from you..there all yours
--
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Have you had your Sargon today?
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You dress to impress
the make-up will hide who you are
you dress to impress
the lies will hide what you want to be
you dress to impress
so you will be just a shadow
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