hungrybison

Enter the killer,

filled with drunken resentment,

circling behind,

he trembles,

“Damn you, take that!”.

 

The shattering of bone,

the spray of blood and brain,

his hand splayed.

 

We do not choose the world,

to which we were born.

Run, run for your fucking life.

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Filed under Short stories and essays

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