I Write Poetry

[big]jacket[/big]

This jacket. Enfeebles the spine.
And lies? Ha! Straight to combine.
Perhaps life? Should it save mine.
Or else bomber, by my design.

Flak. It can take that. Me?
Shrapnel contained, the enemy.
Donned through growth; my glass ivy.
Sir Prise. No help from Houdini.
A gambit; live lies, or die freely.



[i]Pseudonym[/i]