I’ve run out of words.
I’ve run short of time.
Fingers now ache
Squeezing my last dime!
Swing back dark blade,
Swing through your arc
And leave misery beneath,
Rolling to the king’s feet,
Smacking dead eyes
Against dead lies!
Watch me fall back and down,
Mindless limbs of truth’s round
Bleeding knuckles upon the ground
As, gawkily, I twitch to death’s jazz!
Before cackled night comes to pass
Bury me in a pauper’s grave,
I’d want it that way…
Dry tongue and dull sense
Have left me rather indolent,
And these, my stilted words
Sound beheaded and absurd!
I’ve not the blood left for another
Another and another and another!
I’ve rather a soft-shelled neck,
And of resolve, I’ve not a speck!
Silent now, save for earth’s sucking sound
Drinking the dampened ground
Slaking the thirst of a royal liar.
Copyright © 2006 mrp
