his felt tip hat
a broken cigar
held in small hands

I found him
around the corner
of existence

he was selling souls
all you had to do
was dye
for each one
you took

my deaath
his corduroy jacket
fading with time
he sneezed some snot
and wiped his snotty
little hand
on his jacket

he laughed
hacking with a
smoker's cough
when I said
I wanted to buy
my own again
and that I
would pay the price
for my sins

but he said
there was no price
for being yourself

Interesting read..

Worldly worth is found within the soul,,
Nice I like ((((( Jimmy ))))

Reminds me of "The Black Riders" by Stephen Crane

BRAVO..& a4leafclover2u2