It always came down to us old friend.
The devil hitchhikes from the gates where the meek crawl from out the muck of the mediocre.
Snakes don't bother me as much as vermin.
Shit and regrets stink up the nonexistent soul.
I taste hatred far easier than compassion.
In love as in sex my hands clasped around your throat to to taste the edge between bliss and total demise.
I am the darkness you deny and yearn to truly embrace.
To be real let's impersonate the victim you never were.
Hey asshole! Let's ring up the fakest person in the room.
Collect calls from the outskirts of truth.
A razor only cuts for that is its sole purpose to destroy.
Do you accept the charges?
Your silence speaks wonders.
Never toil in the affairs of men or killers such as I.
To stand alone beats swimming in a sea of mock praise and self told lies.
A maggot takes flight as well as a crow.
I rather die than ever be compared.
You see only in the colors of envy.
And the truth is I never saw you at all.
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John Patrick Robbins, is the editor in chief of The Rye Whiskey Review and Black Shamrock Magazine.
He is also the author of Death Rattle & Roll.
His work has been published here at the Dope Fiend Daily, Punk Noir Magazine, Fearless Poetry Zine, Piker Press, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Fixator Press, Schlock Magazine and The San Pedro River Review.
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