You can taste it, can’t you?
The flames of your discarded cigarette,
The tang of your fear
Mixing poetically with your silhouette.

You can see it, can’t you?
The beads of sweat spilling
Like waterfalls against your shirt,
The gun banging against your head,
Your beaten wife, pleading you confess.

You can hear it, can’t you?
The screams of your child,
Her innocent body in a mess,
Shutting down slowly,
After such brutal stress.

You can feel it, can’t you?
The hand pushing against your rib cage,
Pulling your heart out of your chest.
Along comes Death and all his friends,
With your life in his hands,
Waiting salaciously for it to end.

-MJ

© MJPRIME