Categories > Original > Poetry
A burning rage started with a small flame,
And now there are cold fingers dancing around your neck,
I wonder if you’re afraid yet,
Because you haven’t felt the last of me.
I could strangle you, choke you, but I pull my hands away,
I strike a match and set your hair alight instead,
I force your mouth open wide,
I hope you enjoy your surprise.
I hope you enjoy the sensation of the tar I pour down your throat,
Take a cricket bat and beat your brain in,
I want to knock you down; I want to knock you out,
Savage laughter drowns out every one of your feeble cries.
I won’t stop yet, you’re still breathing,
I won’t stop yet, you’re still living,
I won’t stop ‘til the room’s blood red,
I won’t stop ‘til your dead.
And now there are cold fingers dancing around your neck,
I wonder if you’re afraid yet,
Because you haven’t felt the last of me.
I could strangle you, choke you, but I pull my hands away,
I strike a match and set your hair alight instead,
I force your mouth open wide,
I hope you enjoy your surprise.
I hope you enjoy the sensation of the tar I pour down your throat,
Take a cricket bat and beat your brain in,
I want to knock you down; I want to knock you out,
Savage laughter drowns out every one of your feeble cries.
I won’t stop yet, you’re still breathing,
I won’t stop yet, you’re still living,
I won’t stop ‘til the room’s blood red,
I won’t stop ‘til your dead.
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