Poetry

The Glock

Let’s not stray
From the matter
At hand is a Glock
It can penetrate the skull and make it go
Pop.
When I raise the Glock
Your heart stops before the shot

When the Glock is cocked your spirit drops
And melts on the sidewalk
And trickles into the sewer
Then the Glock exhales and you turn even
Bluer
Then white again and then even paler
I’ll put the Glock to your mouth like a fucking inhaler

The Glock is shiny like a rose made of diamonds
The Glock will leave you climbing
Up the steps into the living room to say your final goodbyes
The Glock is like a portable electric chair the way that it fries
My heart says let this slithering Brit live
My Glock says it’s time to die

Where art thou?

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