He Hangs. Me.
Pardon me Sir,
I hate to bother you while you
billow there.
But I must ask,
Is this really what you were all about?
I knew your audacious entrance would be
peppered with tragedy.
We all did.
But of all my self-beasts
You had to kill this one?
The one that shines the brightest,
the one who’s meat made
my eye,
my I.
I never heard tell of your ruthlessness,
that you could cut Achilles heel to the very
white-gleam of bone,
in your florid, carnal surge.
Hanging me in your stead
with inverted, passive visage.