'All pasts are like poems; one can derive a thousand things, but not live in them' John Fowles

Thursday, January 13, 2005

Armed Attack

There's a gaping hole
Spurting with thick blood.

Shot at by your bullet;
Swift and uncompromising it came,
And I was unarmed.

Stabbed at by your dagger,
Your own rythmic pace.
Stab stab stab.

Pray do end it all quick.

Torment me no more,
and I shall pass into the dark.

Won't you lay down your gun and dagger?

0 Comments:

Post a Comment

<< Home