This is called Red Handed. Sorry for the dark nature of this poem, but some things just need to be worked out of your head. A mental splinter, if you will. Enjoy. It’s the same curse The same verse after crackling verse Pigs roasting in the kiln as flames lick their brittle bones I have no secrets left to loan They are too judgmental to hide And it’s truly what’s inside More MCs And skeletal trees That hides nothing but the forest of the weak wannabes The more I bury, the more I find The less I carry, the less I mind My hands are muddy and I’m piling corpses high Shovel over shoulder, I dig holes for a safe place To hide the remains The evidence is higher than the body count Blood is spelt and so are my own tears I regret the act But not the fact That I love every second of that look of fear In their eyes Lock me up Throw away the key Or I’ll keep it up Till I’m hanging from a tree I’ve had my last meal I’ve had my last kill So before I go I just wanted you to know That I always loved you Until you drove me to choose Between the living and the dead I can’t recognize the difference anymore in my mind Right as they loop the noose and pull the handle I wake up, drenched in sweat, my sheets a tangle It was all a dream, you see A nightmare to some, to others a helpless plea
Posted on: Tue, 11 Nov 2014 00:45:33 +0000
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