"I hear the old man had a son."

"No, truly? Surely not."

"I can attest to it, I played witnessed
As part of their caerimonia."

"I'm moving him to Rome,
He'll live as my slave
And I'll make him a gladiator."

"Oh-**, that's rich! He died like an insect,
Sipping poison."


"How are we going to get away with this?
The walls are starting to close in."

"Relax, just change the dates. Make some edits."

"Nobody will notice?"

"I highly doubt it. Plus, they'd have to prove it. And we're sat on top of the evidence."

"How many times has this happened?"

More than once.

Poison in my veins
Thoughts I cannot shake away
Slowly I’m fading

I don't know what I see in her
But what I see, I feel it hurts;
Words describe the pain it burns;
She's like a kitty cat type a verse
You feed her, Love her, You'll hear her purr;
The way I love her it's like a curse,
Get any closer and I might burst

The way she sings, The way she chirps;
Her beauty fills the void; like her curves,
Bro, she's ahead of the race
I'd have to take shortcuts and the swerves,
Just so a hurting soul like me can get to her;
But it'll eventually fall apart like the universe
That's what I get for loving a poisonous type a curse;

My existence finished the moment I fell In Love With Her

Unforgettable days described
on a scroll
soaked with sin.
Toxín.

Bright and smart,
she was so alive,
pure beauty of life.
He took all he could gain
showing her just disdain,
whispered words
that she wants,
getting under her skin
but toxín.
And she heard
that her fate
is a widow from now,
silent vow.
So let it begin
with toxín.

He thought that woman like her
won't be able to leave,
will be silent, naive
and consent just to live
next to him -
so relentless and grim.
Just to serve,
just to live in the shadow,
just to try to deserve.
Feigning grin.
Who is he to get those vague jokes
about toxín?

He thought he would drink to the bottom,
but drops flowed down the glass.
Why this soul is so rotten?
Why he incessantly looks at
her silhouette?
Why he's searching for rhyme like poet?
Now he lurched..
Her toxín is his end.

The stars will go out,
his rough desire to hear her voice like tweet,
feel her touch, hear her sound...
She won't be there anymore,
she will never give treat,
and he won't ignore
broken bound.
Every minute is poisoned.
Toxin.

The morning is dawning,
the wind scatters birds,
and now he is calling
to say that he loves.
A fragment of her heart will be healing,
she knows.
Infernal existence,
time flows,
and he's full of faith
whispers name.
Does he know that his distance
is passing away?

She cries and asks how to live,
she's sincere in tears -
she needs time to relieve.

He did hold her..
No way,
every hour was poisoned,
so he had once to pay.

One of them had to
take all that toxin.

That rush of euphoria fighting into our head,
Jolt of adrenaline creeping to the places we tread,
Reckless actions thrown up for the sake of this sensation,
What more can this be called...
but a poison created of our own volation?

When one self-medicates,
Sometimes they grab the nostrum
Rather than the cataplasm.
Trying to clean the well, they mistake belladonna for myristica.
Perhaps it was the region or the season,
Maybe the water table atop which they were building.
Were it a town,
Perhaps its citizen lacked hygiene
Or had no care to maintain things.
Maybe they sparsely talked things over
And thought little of one another.
Of the many circumstances,
It could've been the building materials
Or the architects.
The dictates we lay out
For ourselves and those around us
Rarely are truly followed
In the case of relations between each other,
And typically less so
In the case of the larger world.