He will watch you because his life does depend upon it
Will smoke this grease-ridden cigarette whilst fretting all about the outcome
A blunt-ended gun to silence her momentary demons if needs be
Not a murmur, nothing
Pacing and trembling, attempting to strut fair evenly, he enters a kitchen to stitch the last of his gash
Turns and falls back into steadier place
Drops the scissors and refocuses upon his gun – right between the loose iron-frame bedpost and the cracked lampshade
Where a trembling, sweat-ridden, misshapen face suddenly starts to truly feel all of this distaste going on
About to be ssshed for one last time

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