One Day Counts

1.5.15

Fists

Glamorous glitz

Being able to pitch ridiculous fits

Furs draped across your lean, wondrous body

Portraits of you, everywhere

At dinner there were twenty kinds of meets

My people are starving in the streets

It isn't fair

Your life is full of flair

We are dying

So we chop off your head

We hold you up by your long blonde hair

The children sit on their fathers' shoulders to stare

Your soul isn't there

You exit the wound, fly past the glistening blade and into the air

You rocket into the stars

Stop

A fist catches you

It's fingers, so close to the ones still gripping your locks, squeeze

God himself throws you like a ball back down

You spiral downwards, into Hell

You still scream, but we feast