Putrid Waste
You cowered away;
Just enough days,
To avoid certain death;
Maybe.
But while your absence,
Indeed,
Properly pacified me;
Bet you never guessed,
When your unlucky day would be!
The water’s scalding,
As you’re showered,
With vicious fists;
You lonely coward!
Onlookers;
Whose normal views of violence are appalling,
Raised from their chairs,
With smiling stares,
Burst into laughter and applauding.
Battered.
Beaten to a Pulp.
Blood clot;
Fused with snot.
Such a Savory gulp.
The last thing you taste,
Putrid waste.
Lights out.
Black out.
Pass out.
You fall right there;
And no one cares.
JS Lambert
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