I feel a sense of urgency.
An honest mess of distress,
But I swear to whatever divine being:
I would take a bullet in my chest,
To feel something other than this angst but I can't,
Overcome this contrivance.
So don't make plans,
Because this man might be a scam.
Don't we all know this was just a big misunderstanding?
I followed you home,
Ended up broke,
And choked in your courtyard baby.
The things that I saw you do...
I bid adieu Ms. Fourth Street Avenue.
The nights we walked...
Goodbye again you scarab in my skin.
The flowers last petiole, plunges to it's death.
The coward twitches violently,
As his heart begins its process,
Because this man is dying,
There will be no mercy.
Those children should be living,
Not graveyard kids at best,
An aching pain in their mother's chest.