He Carries A Gun Loaded
With Guilt, She Pulls The Trigger,
He Answers. You Should
Call Sometime Before I-‘m Dead,
Eaten Alive By Genetic Tendencies
You Knew You Couldn-‘t Stop, But
Somehow Didn-‘t Stop You From Trying.
An Experiment
Maybe
She Polishes The Silver
Bullets, Handing Them To Him
On A Bloody Platter. Clean Up
Your Own Damn Mess, I-‘m Not
Your Maid, I-‘m Your Maker,
Your Executioner. I Gave You Life,
Aren-‘t You Going To Thank Me