You look at my hands
and see clean hands
that look as if they have worked a little,
while I see the past flash by
a splattering of red blood, violent
blurred images of insanity,
Is that dark shadow
with hate exploding out
it's twisted mouth
and wearing an assortment of pewter rings layered on each hand and spiked studs
covering the surface of the belt snaked around it's waist like a snake ready to strike
and reinforcing the top and toes of the head kicking boots
really me? Even that shatters my idea of earning redemption...
each step I watch that figure take
I hear those boots grind broken glass on the asphalt, probably from another fight
loudly echo overpowering the fear of my prey's prayers,
Only for fists, feet, rings, studs to cut the screams down...
until a flash of cold bone china streaks across the darkness between us,
I run and take off as the knives have finished my wrath
freeflowpoet
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