by Nick Gisburne
You’ll die, because you’re nobody I need.
I wish there was another way, but no.
You’ll die, and I will smile to see you bleed,
The method of your murder simple, slow.
You’ll die, in ways you cannot comprehend,
In fifty thousand screaming shades of pain.
You’ll die, and when I kill you I will spend
The greatest care to open every vein.
You’ll die, but not before you dig your grave.
I need to see you suffer in the dirt.
You’ll die, a soul too sickening to save,
In hideous, interminable hurt.
You’ll die. Your death was always meant to be.
The mother of the son you stole is me.
