Ambi-Dexter-ous? (A sanguineous sonnet?)
I often wonder where my future lays
within this less than great, inhuman race.
Rewinding, analysing all he says,
whilst practising my empathising pace.
Imagining that I was in that crate.
A toddler on a photographic spool
Exposed to re-develop Mother’s fate
and yet, still find the spattered blood stains cool.
Conditioned by a thousand reels of gore,
my eye is dry, my throat denies the gulp.
I watch the carnage calmly and ignore
the chainsaw slowly churning her to pulp.
I guess as a result of that bloodbath...
I’m rooting for a bloody psychopath.
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Comments about this poem (Ambi-Dexter-ous? (A sanguineous sonnet?) by Dan Reynolds )
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