I pass it between my fingers,
I feel the cold hard shell.
I drop it on the floor,
It rings just like a bell.
I place it on the side for now,
Whilst I act at dinner.
He won’t live for long,
Only as long as later.
That’s what I did with the bullet, I put it in his head.
I hate his evil eyes,
The way they stare and judge me.
I hate the way he speaks,
The way he talks about me.
I hate the way he thinks,
The way that he controls me.
I hate his presence in a room,
The way he makes me tense.
That’s why I took the bullet, and put it in his head.
I walk to my desk,
I pick up my gun.
I walk to where they rest,
And use them to load my gun.
I walk to where he lies,
I remove the safety lock.
I look at him sleeping,
I fire a shot.
That’s how I took the bullet, and put it in his head.
His castle,
My house.
His fortress,
My home.
His chamber,
My living room.
His sleeping place,
My zone.
That’s where I took the bullet, and put it in his head.
A foolish man,
The opposite of wise.
He forgot that I’m cruel,
This time, his demise.
My mother’s love,
Supposedly.
But I have had enough,
Obviously.
That’s who got the bullet, put into his head.
Bang bang, he’s dead.
YOU ARE READING
The Big Book of Poems
PoetryThis is my big book especially for poems. I will keep adding to it, and hopefully you'll enjoy the poems I write. I'll try to write about different things, but everything here is written to express my thoughts and feelings.