Saturday, August 21, 2010


They looked down at my pant leg
Thinking superior thoughts
Decided to display their taste
"They're dirty," Gazing at the rust colored spot on my thigh

"Oh, these are my killing pants," I say
I try to affect the casual air
The one that tells my prey
They are a simple catch

"When I feel a little murder-ish I put them on."
Believing I am joking
Their faces break in half 
A tight grimace for a smile

"I don't mess 'em up often though,"
My eyes shift to the quiet one
The other's eyes see what I want her to see
"He didn't even make any noise before he went," I say with a "tsk."

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