Poetry Blogs (2013, assassin)
poemagraphic on I never lied in the rose garden. (Cummings and goings) (8 hours ago)
The knife protrudes from his chest.
His heart pierced by cold steel.
The man falls to his knees.
Takes a final breath,
and falls over.
Blood covers my sweaty hands.
Adrenaline courses through my veins.
I do not feel guilt,
Instead I am awash in relief.
The deed is done and I feel anew.
Monday 8th September 2014 12:32 am
I dial him up,
An unlisted number, of course
But easy enough to find
When you know where to look.
He speaks low, and slow,
I tell him what he needs to know,
No more. Not too much.
He books me in. Half-four.
Simple stuff - a time, a place, the door,
The colour, the number, the floor outside.
Then the target, to mark it,
Rough age, hair colour?
Height, weight, creed?
Friday 4th October 2013 8:59 am