Punch-Drunk Kill of the Night

This is a rather dark poem I put together a few minutes back.

I feel it guiding the shattering of bone.
This is the start of an end of a world all my own,
a shining world, a world that’s mine!
Watch the seas curl. Nothing will ever ring fine!
You are blessed, during the moon-drunk signs. On my flesh, all shall dine.

Eat your heart out, Mr. M. This is the real new s**t,
the stuff that’ll get you punch-drunk with a fat lip.
Fighting you all seems like a fun little story,
but I can’t help feel that it will only serve to bore me.

Do you smell that, the odor lousy throughout the air?
No? Just get this fool out of my damned hair.
The imbecile twiddled his thumbs and sat.
The theft of his mind, a crying shame, that.
As I said earlier, cut the crap. By the way, Your lip’s getting fat.

Author's Note

This poem is spoken by a narrator, the head of the Black Ball, the Black Arcadia.