Saturday, May 04, 2013

V. 2, #37: May 4, 2013

Hands clamped around the wheel as if Grim Death
were coming up fast in the passing lane,
he pushed the pedal down, near half insane
with fiery wrath against her. Every breath

was laden with a curse most inhumane,
as pictures of their bodies intertwined,
the P.I.'s glossy photos, underlined
and time-stamped, fired the furnace of his brain.

Not soon enough, he would stand in the door
of that venomous snake he'd called his friend
and partner, watch the blood drain from his face
while she would only scream. A moment more,
and he, the last alive, would torch the place,
then eat his gat. And that would be the end.


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