Pick Your Poison
P ower held with in my grip, Run bastard, run.
I nnocence once taken can never be un-ripped.
C olorful the names they'll call me now, hateful;
k eep your pity, you've not poisoned my soul.
Y earling limbs spread for you and you rode.
O nly anger lofted life above the bloody fray,
u ntil today you'd thought nothing of my pain;
r ancid was your heart, but there are many deaths.
P igeon holed in the alley of your miserable hovel
o n a night as hot as hell, what will it be dear,I ask.
I display a fine array of knifes and a scatter gun,
s oftly I whisper Run bastard, runand laugh.
O nly, it appeared, he could not make a manly choice?
N o, poison, it’s too meek, too neat for my voice.
Published in Sweet Dreams And Night Terrors 2013
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