Twitching frightend and cold,
beaten, breathing weakly,
a leaf rocks back and forth,
till it falls, like a tree.
My mother's corpse,
against the red stained floor,
gun shell implantened in her chest,
now my mind is blessed,
with the memories of her death,
her final breath, I love you.
The murdering b***h,
smiling, pre-prision photo-shoot,
but there is no cameras,
there are no police,
only me, watching my mother die,
my eyes capturing the pain.
Blacken rims remeber that day,
how the cat murdered the prey,
in cold blood that gushed out everywhere,
all i can do is remeber, as i stare at the wall,
reaching for the knife that started to fall.
Blood streaks marked my days,
I knew the killer, I knew his name,
but i felt like i deserved the blame,
till i slit his throat,
I deserve my mothers fate.
Then the day comes,
the man comes to work,
a simple job, for a simple demon,
cashier who rests tall and still.
At 5:30pm his shift ends,
watching from a small table,
he folds his apron carefully,
and starts to walk,
each step leds to the employee lounge,
so does mine.
My hands in my pockets,
but the pockets are holes,
holes to hold, my sweet revenge,
a bread knife, riged and sharp.
He enters the room, lights are off,
reaching out i hold the door with my foot,
and casualy stroll in, glancing at him,
my hands tighten, sweat starts to form.
The door closes quietly, as i lock,
He turns around a smile on his face,
"I haven't seen you before,
are you new?"
His voice sounds steady,
he must speak true,
"Ya, I just got the job,
could you show me how to tie this thing."
Holding an apron over the knife,
watching him approch,
his steps line up with my heart-beat,
he's running practicaly in this small room.
"Let me see that,
its not that hard."
As he lifts he sees the sparkle,
of the lovely teeth of my friend.
My curvered hand wraps around his head,
the other brings the hilt of the knife to his neck,
black eyes, tell no sleep,
sliver skin, speaks of revenge,
red blood, delivers me from my self,
now insanity becomes health.
Sharp fangs dig in his skin,
torn flesh sawed away from his neck,
I can see his gagging head fall,
unable to breath, unable to see,
blood crashing against the ground.
His body lies, as i watch him die,
my friend wants to spend the night,
so i rests in his chest,
as i travel home.
On my couch i sit alone,
reminding my self another day has past,
one scar, two scar, number three,
as i click to the news, Brandon Key is dead
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