From the Northwest corner I caught you trying to hide the outline of your ambush in the outline of the moon.
But I spied you careless, *******. Fate is these next two moments before I pump you full of death.
That middle moment is beyond me, so bend your knee and confront the **** ***** Joke some call "free will."
And pretty please love me anyway. We never could have changed places, But I still hurt the same as you do. I sweat and **** ashamed. I hug my Mommy tightly, trip, stand up, and still play to win the game.
This poem is meant to explore the contradictions in the concept of "free will" through assassin imagery.