Of Corn and Crows

The hurt would be crushing
I should thank god for this fat suit
everyday insulated
because what would I do without?

Strands of truth and sheaths of anger weather
for the most part

I do not fear the wind or the rain
but the shadowed clouds laying low
whipping frenzied feathers
of false promises and hate
of incincere smiles
of petty desires
Am I feeling myself or your vile shit
Are you eating me alive

I should thank god for this fat suit
buying time
against the inevitable

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