He draws his gun from leather strap, takes aim,
A pull of the trigger, a tongue licks lips,
Smoke trails from the muzzle—bullet in flames,
Blood splatters the pavement mocking the Styx.
How foolish she had been to wish him hell,
He thinks, while watching crimson hair dripping,
She should have known him to be this as well,
He’d drag her down with him, scream and kicking.
The police sirens wail; calling justice
He chuckles, his appearance disheveled
Somehow the sound of a gunshot just is
A way for the police to embezzle.
He sits in his prison and watches time,
Thinking, somehow, someway, she will be mine.
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