Every Fibre.mature
These were never vessels,
Vessels to be filled
It doesn't matter anymore
He never had a chance.
Stand and receive your judgement
Not one year, and he choked on the blood in his lungs.
Are you happy now?
You make me retch
Fall to the dirt.
Slit your own throat, and writhe in the mud
Defenseless,
Yet you dare let your sickness lash out?
I'll be happy when you die.
When the fires of Hell lick at your feet, maybe your Heart of ice will start to melt
Or maybe Hell will be his face.
Hell will be his face.
As he bled, you'll be bound
You'll gain no respect, but disgust and fear
The scum of society will look upon you and spit
For what you've done, they will never forgive.
Slaughterer.
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THE GOODS
You're currently reading the poem
Every Fibre., which
was posted on Dec 4, 2010 by
Misfit.
This is a solo poem.
Some rights reserved.
This poem is filed under:
Abstract, Free Verse, Mature Themes
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