Run your mouth till it runs off
and bites off her tongue.
Words flung like phlegm from
the bottom of blackened lungs.
The singing hero becomes the unsung.
The name don't ring bells,
it breaks down the house door.
Lays the residents down flat
on the floor. Panicked to their core.
Then cracked tiles snap.
Falling through the floor, as the
water pours. Floods the basement,
drowns the poets and the dwelling.
Smelling the decomposing, the
neighbours dread the scenes gore.
A simple drug scandal?
Or the ****** of a *****?
For years they couldn't bare
to think for any more than two
seconds about what stories played
out behind that door.
But their tongues twisted truth
like it was a noose for a neck.
No empirical evidence, yet told
all when the police did inspect.
Funny how the mind winds fiction
out of nothing but simple prediction.
