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He reloads then shoots away.
Remember the summer spent in the crosshairs of a madman,
What's wrong with the summer?
And whats wrong with the winter with a shadow in tow.

He trys to run past his own scornful reflection,
Smashing mirrors by the dozen.
There's no point in lying to death,
When death is inside.
Everytime you see your own image you focus on the gun.

Blood and bullets spilled on the carpets and walls,
A storm indoors and impure.
Scattered on the floor a dead and wasted dysfunctional family,
Rain drop ripples in a raging sea.
Broken, left behind, wraithlike, long overdue the devil.

He stalks into the shadows like a wounded animal after battle,
Lick up the blood.
They will read the stained walls like a horror story,
Then times up.
Time to leave this place to hunt and kill again.

He chants prayers to his gods with hatred and malice,
"Spare the sinner".
Amen and red stained lips in the moonlight painted trees,
Drift away into sleep.
Absence of conscience is not absence of soul.

The prison of the body cannot compare.
It cannot compare to revenge of the mind,
Their faces haunt.
They laugh.
Just cry and cry.

This poem is Copyright © acid_lucidity