The battle must have been rough
If any god had ever envisioned it so
For it was a massacre
Slightly worse than being a sacrifice
Did she, or he, or to verse it globally
Universally
Existabeingly
IT
Had its penultimate choice
Would that ever, or forever be an astounding yes
To a slaughter?
Them mutts were definitely out for a party
I decree, them self-righteous scum
Had willed, instigated, created that fucking
Choice
Had IT ever had a voice
How did it speak, what did it say?
IT saw itself, happening
Through yours orderly, the all-seeing, unforgiving I
Caught the last glimpse
It's face, A face
Obscured by a view dominated by the shadow of their furry fangs
Wrestling the living pieces out of its miniscule shape-frame
And I shan't give it a name
I shan't contest it
I can only attest it
Saw its last purgative breath snap away
From A broken body
Lying in the ditch, lying in the rain, lying in small sharp spasms
Over a coldly detached manhole
I would have wished for it to be awake
Didn't do anything for its wake
Either
Into the folded, scolded faux-leather lips of a lady's
Carrying case
Once slightly loved, now discarded
Holding, encompassing IT within IT
You can safely say, that I buried the case
Filled it with death-proof remnants
Willingly unwilling to participate
For Never More!
Left that colostomy bag
Inside the battered cockpit of a stationery
Joy ridden miniature helicopter
Once meant for the entertainment of bipedal children
Now an open plan tomb
The eyes, empty, not registering
The mouth, cranked and craned at an impossible angle
The entertainment of stranded, otherwise
Flabbergasted, dumbed and dumped down
Jesus-free, Jesus-freak accidentally
Spaced out, left about, ganged up
Hard lucked
Canines
