A moment of violence – in a poem…






This poem happens to be a violent one. So if you can’t take it please read past, and try not to think of me as a sick fuck. 😉





I’d like to kill someone

watch them cripple

under the cold metal.

Some say that a blade beats

’em all. You can silently strip

off the flesh, watch the pain

drip out.


It must be the thrill

the creative embrace, of

keeping the froth in their

lungs. The soft whisper of the

dying ghost in the throat

lingers, stretches tighter

than skin.


Her blood boils in her chest.

I take off the iron, smell the

permanent print engraved into

soft-skin splattered with my scarlet

kisses, lost feelings climb

out of her dirty hair.


I enjoy the fear, the soft murmur.

A fragile pulse, inches over my thumbs

along with the violence in her eyes,

clawing her brain, and bleeding out

a breath.





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