Poetry Killed the Writer
Written By: Pique
'He died with his eyes opened
black and vermilion colors blend
the feather pin loses it's ink
raw beef sits inside the sink.
A noose rests on the table
staring at it; writing his fable
visions of swinging backwards
being held by his throat works.
Finally he just drops the pen
the poem is finally at an end
as he wraps the rope above
a reminder strikes the young.
Screams from the cradle rock
he falls from the chair in shock
quiets the child with some milk
then strangles it with his belt.
Now, there should be no problem
and now, not a soul can stop him
but he hears his name carry aside
as he sees the ghost of his wife.
He jumps back down from the chair
kicks it aside and reaches for her hair
going through this soul with hatred
the words she whispers are sacred.'
I love you, but what are you doing?
'Nothing really matters to him anymore
so he grabs a knife and sits by the door
looking up, screaming his wedding vows
and today is the day. . . . he's dying now.'
Today's News: A high and mighty poet in
the United Kingdom. Writes his greatest
story yet, and ends up living every letter
of it. We'll consider this another case of
'Poetry Killed the Writer'.