Useless Are Unessesary, ' Deaths Poem by James McLain

Tremors past.
By this my, your very own hand.
Thus whom it is, that I am.
Being who I am, thus it is loved.
Chacolate panties freely eaton by the white boy.
Hypersexuality the cheerleaders never stay free,
of the shadow, deep in their midsts.
Carefull it enters then when by, from the center.
It cuts like the knife going never away back into.
The finest of them is the empty crows nest, there it sits.
While the other girls lie to get it to it/it drains your soul.
Useless these deaths, hot mustard, I touch.
Two legged three in the sun day old bait.
Empty of yellow lumber it cuts like a knife, sawing it through.
And you, you are like them juicy, the swamp knotted wet?
Panties 'O, my 'O so full, 'O my, wet satin green panties.
Does the silver gold mullet and thin plain white tissue, help?
Your pink nose seems to me always, there bleeding.
As cinderella lips sing around it and I pull at it back, I am free.
And buldgeing eye balls pus dripping, swiveled come forth.
Dstracting me from your nose as it as it should comes loose.
Know each bell that you ring, singing I sing it rang, choose.