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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Cold misty clouds rise above the grates The streets only illumination, tossing shadows like pennies Faded street lamps at each end The cold is biting, as I roll the collar over my neck I received a call earlier that day A new client, who insisted not to meet, At my office Just fine with me, my office scared its fair share Of prospects away So glancing at my watch I waited Under the street lamp, I lit a fag To pass the time Where was the dame? I was beginning to guess this was some kind of hoax Worse still I was missing a poker game over at the Pig&Bath The tube was a few blocks away, and sooner rather than later I should part company with this particular street lamp of no desire Not a soul in site, I decided I’d been played for a fool A pretty voice, that will get ya every time As I sauntered away looking bored in case anyone was watching I heard the click of my own shoes on concrete I also heard an echo? Was I being followed? I crossed to the other side somewhat on edge I had enough blokes that didn’t see my good side Not that I ever saw much either I quickened my pace Whoever was behind seemed to quicken their pace I turned the corner and now in a very fast walk Ran for the main street, passing an alley that had seen better days Something or someone grabbed at my trench coat All of a sudden, here I am, pulled into a dark alley I feel the punches, and what seems like a pipe Hitting me repeatedly, yet I see no one I cover my head, and try to keep silent No use humoring this lug with the pleasure of my pain On the ground, I feel the kicks into my ribs Blood starts to spill from my mouth, Or who knows, maybe my nose No concern of mine As I wont have much of a face after this brutal feast I hear the faint wisps and grunts, as I lay wounded Whoever did this sure fancies himself a professional I would like to say more, but I think is time for dreamland No idea if I am unconscious, dead or dreaming In a puddle of my own blood I lie, in agony looking above at a strange face My god, its my shadow! He spits on me in disgust Laughing, he says "finally I am free of you" You rotten son of a Birch tree At that he parts, off he goes to the land of the living Walking away with some woman that I feel I should know They laugh together, as I lie inside my own turmoil The garbage pickup at dawn Will dispose of my bones and dreams Some PI I turned out to be Murdered by my own shadow
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