When A Killer Gets Killed - Poem by Aaron Gotham
They called me a killer
But not because my eyes that tell the story of a sinner
Or the way I greet with a voice that says "Ready for another? "
It's all about the way I walked.
The way I talked.
The way I smirked when someone gawked
The way my hand flowed perfect with the ground
The way my ass shook
And pleased everyone in town.
No, they called me a killer, for the looks I used to give.
The winks and hip sways hit like shivs.
The kisses I blew made them all call "dibs"
And my hair flips made them blush like kids.
But again... That was back when.
When the world was in,
We were free from sin,
And the low-class beggars raised their chins.
Hell is around now, and were all being burned.
Even me, the one with the "Curves".
Minds change and the feelings turned.
I rest my case and shoo the bird.
If only I didn't change to an ugly figure
I'd still have taste, like the way the smell of cinnamon lingers.
My face would be broken into a smile
But it seems its shot down, thousands of miles.
My mind is broken, but from what I know that's okay.
I'll sell the optimism and be on my way
I'll ride on horseback, and fly through the streets.
The darkness is the only thing I suggest you do not meet.
It wasn't about the way I walked
The way I talked
The way my smile left when no one gawked
It was all about the way that I fell out.
The front door opened and I got booted south.
I leave this place with a sewed up mouth
But I can't be mistaken, I did this to myself.
I'm sorry to you my bastard friend
From what my thoughts; my thoughts tried to send,
I thought you would be there until the end.
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