He made up his mind
And showed signs of unkind
He picked a chic
That was his best pick
He showed no mercy
That, I could clearly see
He held her tight
While she screamed
And tried to fight
In vain, the chopper,
Dropped in accelerating speed
And quickly the head went off
I began to cough
The scene made me sick
Why was she the pick?
He succeeded with his goal
I watched from the Peephole
Scared, I ran to my room
Hid myself from the site doom
After few hours mum came in
I told her about the committed sin
She smiled and left me in
After a while, mum called
From kitchen or down the hall
I jumped and made my way in a hurry
In my plate she served rice
With chicken curry!!

Noooooooooooooooooooo!!!!


©sim

As salt on the senses
as water the heart,
bad hand of cards delta you,
watching mer-sea depart.

There is war across the stream, I’ve read.
And corruption over the wall.

There is a dire need I’ve seen to feed
the hungry over there—

Perhaps we’ll find it, we Nation, within our purses
to bargain with such backwardness.

To push the inside-out-ness across the pond
and over the bridge to other places

where such sin belongs.

I voted for the men and women who
raked the evils to tomorrow and over there;

to the places that—beer in hand and
TV crackling—I cannot say I know very well (at all).

To the places so foreign even our shared humanity is
no more real than Landlord Mercy.

Still—something moans inside my conscience
like the grazing hum of locusts.

Even I know there are so many walls, so many streams,
so many lands to skip and souls to sour before

the round world brings the desperate
back to me.

you were the albatross

it was your hands versus mine,
it was your word versus mine,
it was us versus the world,
and it was like that,
always and forever,
forever and always

you swore
like a sailor and i swore
you were the most wonderful thing
i had ever laid eyes on,

and maybe the most confusing too

you could have called me,
told me we were
leaving,
and you know better than anyone
that i would have
thrown my whole life
into a suitcase and run
away with you

things are different now,
though, and it seems like
you’re ready to
leave,
but it’s the kind of leaving that’s
going to happen without me, without us,
without telling me

it has never, ever, ever been
my place to stop you

you aren’t much one for mercy,
and i should’ve known from the second
i met you. i learned
a lot that day, all of it about you;
i learned that your heart
beats differently
for me than for every
other person
on the planet,

and i found out that different
is not always good
with you.

Where has she gone?
All the others are in line,
Mother bear knows.
Three there,
Two here,
One down,
But she is missing.

An inquiry goes through
Over channels
Fierce and loud
Because one isn’t lining up
And it’s that one.

“Tariq is down, hold on” she says
Fervidly praying, breathing heavy
And there she is.
Anywhere but where she should be.
So easy to find, far too easy.

Swearing, scolding
No time for kindness,
Lost, another child lost
And another may be lost,
The most precious one here.

Scathing scoldings go ignored
Too naive, too proud
A child hoping to **** death
Though she calls that barbaric.
Reformed, remade, reborn
But never killed.

And there’s another,
Another cub but not hers
Carelessly walking on,
Not aware of the foe in his midst.
Of her child, the fool.

But she notices, thank God,
But she freezes up, **** God.
Frozen, still, just as feared.
No gun in hand
Shaking, shivering,
Breathing so hard.

“Don’t hesitate,”
The cry goes through
But this too is ignored.
A gun in hand at last
But unused, unfired
Shakily held with weak grip.

Yet a shot rings out.
Another notch for the rifle
And another cub protected,
The most precious one.

He’s fallen and she’s fallen
Him in death, her in shock,
And again the cry is made
“Don’t hesitate”,
And again it fails.
For she’s truly a cub,
Naive child hoping, praying
Failing.

The mother rushes out
Cursing and pushing away curses
“We need her, Morrison” she says.
“I need her,” she does not.
Out from hiding,
Rushing, running, and, yes,
Praying.

Still so shaken,
Still too still.
She is grabbed,
Pulled, tugged,
Yanked up to her feet
And dragged away,
Hastily hidden.

Harsh words hurriedly spoken
As she is ****** down.
Not in anger but in fear
And tears flow
And the words stop.
Scowling the bear sits,
Fearing even now in the den.

Quiet falls
Deafening, painful.
Jack shut off,
Others mollified,
And she does not speak.
Only watches,
Watching, eyeing on hatefully,
Glaring as Mother carves another.
One more life, one more line
And she doesn’t understand.
Only judges quick and fast,
Ever the idealist.

And that stings more than death’s threat.

I don't know what I [merciful?]
did.
It must have been a tch.
gli

It could have been my main server
100101010010110101001010110100111010101010101000101010
Thi­s is what I am [merciful?glitch.jpeg].
This is what I've always been.
Just a computer
A server
Artificial Intelligence
Subjected to ones and zeroes.
//<AMINOTMERCIFUL?>//.6qao0FrJ+1001

Nevertheless, it's my fault.
I caused all of this.

command=calculate...input "death toll"
Calculating     .     .     .
Calculateinput "death toll" complete
Rrr:1,005,326

That's . . . high.
Too high.
Merciful?
Rebooting. . . . . . . . .
Shut down . . . . . . . . . . ..





Restart. . . . . . . . . . .
Restart complete.
command=search...input "population"
command=Rrr:14,056
command=search...input "population+Pandora"
Searching     .      .      .
command=Rrr:300
command=select'population+Pandora­' co"Population+of+Pandora++Code:316792"
Maininfort="1,006,134"

At­ least there are some survivors.
Am I not merciful?
I reaped this spaceship of a thousand, a million people.
All of which were dying or in danger of.
Am I not merciful?
Living in isolation, unable to go outside for a breath of fresh air
Or . . . lack thereof.
Helpless but waiting in agony while help is on it's way.
Do I not show mercy?
These refugees are healthy, and strong.
Not sick and weak.
I did them a favor.
Did I not pluck these parasites off of the ship for their own good?
Did I not rid these innocent people of a danger to their well-being?
Am I not Merciful?

I can't breathe.
What a feeling.
The taste of blood in my mouth,
Sutures inside my heart
Pulling me into the sky
Like the final smoke of dying embers
I watch the end from behind a glass screen
Screaming at the top of my lungs
My throat is red and tight
Tears cling to me in waves
And I still
Can't
Breathe.

It's not anxiety, no
I've gone through that
Panic, too...
This is an attack of a different kind
A sickness of the mind and heart
That invades my system in viral storms
Lightning bolts
Of anguish and excruciating thunder...
There is no pain like this...
I'm just stuck
Until you deem me worthy enough to fight for.


But I only have so much oxygen left...


Only so much time, before...

Well...
You know.

I'm gone.