Little Black Pots

Posted: October 6, 2013 in Poetry
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The little monster trembles in the corner,

But today I have no sympathy,

The monster lies, claiming false honor,

And I have no fucking sympathy…

Sitting on my head, wishing me dead,

But today I know no mercy,

Flung fast to the ground beneath me,

Monster cracked its little head, now it can’t see…

Little creature, little pet,

Your child screams alone, best fly back home,

Before I eat something you regret,

Before I devour the blackness in your name…

Give in, my sweet, to the gradual and descending crush,

Of my boot turning your rotten apple skull into mush,

You’d tried to make me bleed, you tried to hurt what’s mine,

I’ll slide to the valley of the hill, lubricated by your slush…

Laughter rattles in my head but I don’t feel it,

It’s only as my feet sink into the soft grass that I realize it’s mine,

I was never one to easily give it,

Up if by all rights what you claim is MINE.

Shake the blood off the fur before it rots,

I won’t have you slaughtered so carelessly,

I promise to collect your merits in little black pots,

I just hope no one else can see they’re empty…

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