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A God of Death
May 11, 2013
Here I stand,
With my sword in hand,
About to slash your guts.
Your blood streams down my chest,
Into my pants, down my legs.
I feel cruel,
When you beg me for life.
I want nothing more than,
To rip your teeth out.
Come a little closer,
My sword is too dry
Your body looks too good,
I want to break your ribs,
And suck on your eyes.
Until you’re too tired to scream.
To shake or live.
© Peter M., Marblehead, MA
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