Sammy the Thug

Sammy smiles at Cerise,

the blonde body he had Hollywood’d -

only that was in his dream.

Her covert gaze and felicitous warble

waded its way towards him.

Nobody seemed to realise, that his

balded, beer-bellied, brutish form

held dangerously the capacity to

kill.
 

Cerise was unaware,

sunnily innocent of her fate.

Sammy knew how to do it.

He’d told me a few times.

His solemn soliloquy,

once hastily scratch’d,

now etched on my

old blackened soul.
 

How quickly the seed implanted

can grow; drunk on secular morality.

Sammy knew a thorn had infested

his mind of casual, yet forceful

audacity.
 

Society adores him, honours

and ignores him, a volley of

arachnids, yet their mercy

implores him.
 

Cerise lays slain,

her glassy gaze

and ferrous pool

of liquid life,

Quenched Sammy's Society.
 

I don't know why I'm posting this, I absolutely detest it.
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