the rock slab
wich, covered with the coughed up
blood and brain matter
from the bullet wound,
is a cold and heartless
monument
i feel the pulse
of depravity
in the defense

my hands instinctivley
reaching for the trigger

a man with an ugly face
full of hatred
slathering and raving
for my blood

i squeeze and watch
in the blink of an eye
as his body rockets back
to smack against this
cold rock slab
like a sack of wet bones

his gurgle and final
gasp sliding through the air
with the velocity
of disruption

i flick a piece of flesh
off of my upper lip
and wonder at my survival

03/02/2002

Posted on 03/02/2002
Copyright © 2026 Travis G Finborg