He surrounded himself with gasoline
Pullled a match from its box
He'd become tired of living
Tired of empty Holy ones talks,
He'd for 30hrs been a hitman
Had no use for empathy
Killing another was a job
He did for his "Family,"
His children had found
His nontraceable gun
The boy thought pulling
The trigger, would be gun,
The gun fired countless
Bullets in scant seconds
His sister's body that was
Was a body identifiable wasn't,
Now by his own hands
He'd face his retribution
In his broken heart and mind
This was his only solution,
The match the gasoline
In a flash the flames grew
Passersbys stop and stared
At a loss for they should do,
The fires need was quenched
It slowly began to die
Over the chared remains
Not a soul would ever cry.
No not a soul ever would cry.
JJSweets 02Oct19 01:03 hrs
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