The Revenge of a Pyschopath

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

I don't want to get too personal about this.

The Revenge of a Pyschopath

The last time I promised myself it was the last time,

A line had been crossed,

A stopwatch started,

Your violent fate cannot be persuaded,

I’ve read you your last rites before your last fight,

There isn’t a bitch on this planet with a face pretty enough to talk me out of this.

 

By the second time around,

I’m more certain,

More made up,

More determined,

Old enough to know,

Thirty one years is not long enough.

 

What is it about me that means I cannot let this go?

Even when your eyes must now forever bow to mine,

Too shit scared to even try to force a laugh at my expense.

 

You should never have started something you could not finish,

I am happy happy to die to inflict my bone crushing revenge upon you,

Your guilty face will crumble to pieces in my hands,

But I want you to still put up some type of fight.

 

You must know,

You must realise,

I’m coming for you,

It’s just a matter of time,

20 years of weight pushing preparation,

20 years of punching bag devastation,

Going to unsane lengths to expand my threshold of pain,

I have inflicted agony upon agony on myself in readiness for this,

Picturing the fear in your face as I put my fist through it.

 

Fight fight beer beer,

And I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your house down,

I’m going to beat you into a bloody pulp with endless morbid concentration,

Even if it must be by stereoid injection.

 

There is a beauty about the symmetry of it all,

You began this and so it’s my turn to finish,

What good is a man unless he is a man of his word?

 

There is a time for talking,

And a time for doing. 


Submitted: May 02, 2015

© Copyright 2022 Elliot Borges. All rights reserved.

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