Foreign vowels dipped in blue;
I could smell the dirt it brew.
Slivering skies clouded by lies;
I could forsee my nearing demise.
On my back, I got eyes two.
Two too many to see my woe.
They steal my sleep and keep me on my toe,
for I have seen too many friends turn to foe.
A repeated scene, so I know the cure.
I must kill them to be safe and secure.
I must.
I must.
~28/9/24 EH ©
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Word count - 78
Lines - 9
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