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