Thug

That bastard is a snivelling runt.

My stooges have been spiking

his food for a fortnight. He suspects

nothing. I’m here for bashing

an old biddy. She had it coming.

Ten years. So I need some recreation.

There is no especial reason I hate

the bastard. Maybe it’s because

he stinks of privilege. They make me

want to vomit. My rage builds up.

Until I need to lash out. I shall

have his son’s head.

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