Bloody Honey

Imagine, my dad is dead.

Brutally, with me being mad.

When a waterfall current,

Flows through my hair depth,

I imagine, my dad is dead.

Digging in, pigging out,

How could I digest the lungs proud.

He smoke, he stink,

Not as tasty as my ink.

Imagine, your dad is dead.

Cruelly, us being mad.

When pearls disperse bad,

All together, cuddling raged,

We imagine, our dads are dead.

Sharing meat before it rot.

Inviting moms into our pot.

But he's not jammy, he had debt,

Why dads are for nothing, but to taste bad?

Reviews

[Quill]

well that truly would be a horrible thing to imagine