Knife plunges into flesh.
A red hot blood spritz, yes!
And then an ebullition.
No more suppositions.
Flesh hacked into fifty pieces.
He finds beauty in the egregious
Acts of his pack committee
That is as silent as the boy in Sin
City.
“Sin City!” he thinks. “Now there’s
a thought.”
The war within him, watches each
peace rot
On the cold constitutional floor.
He smiles, looks around, then makes
his escape,
Off to seek his sanity, to give
thanks and praise.
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