The sound two storeys up
Past the mewling cats
That sounded as though they were
Orgasming pain
The blunt object upon which
A history had been written
Yet none had anticipated its
Final trajectory through bone
Into brain
The taste of death mingled
With the smells of excrement
The smells of absolute terror
As a victim soils itself
The cats continue
Up and down and then up down down
Squish squish squish
A collection of poems and musings by a rookie poet and constant dreamer - J.O.S.H
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