For every Guest who comes with him to sup,
The Host compounds a strangely mingled cup;--
Red Wine of Life and Dregs of Bitterness,
And, will-he, nil-he, each must drink it up.
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Roses are red, violets are blue, I'm schizophrenic, and so am I.
by Cindy Trannow blood comes out of her mouth
with every no she makes
the ten thousand two hundred
and twentieth meal for dad
too salty, too bland
too bad her silence says
all the chicken blood
wasted in ...