Shooter
By R. Cary
Pounding is all I hear, a
History of the Tell-Tale Heart
Only forgiveness is all I seek,
My soul resting…no, no, no;
No bad writing as I stare out
The Secret Window eating my
Corn wearing my hat, out the
Window I see a Pet Semetary,
Everyone can see it coming
Those goddamn trucks;
Inward I search, but only
Jack Nicholas I look to be,
‘Here’s Johnny’, what a
Beautiful smile; maybe my
Braces should come off…
No, no, no; no bad writing
If only I hadn’t lived the life
Of Rodya, my brother of
Dostoevsky’s art, Crime
And Punishment, as I grin
At the sheriff and the girl
I creep out; Shooter was his
Name, psychopathy is my
Game, it wasn’t me I say,
As I feed on my corn fed
And seeded from the blood
Of my hated x-wife and that
Cunt of a man teaching her
Like Ms. Pfeiffer what really
Lies Beneath, the brutality of
A Grudge, my own perverted
Silence of the Lambs only to
Live in solitude at the end of
This Shuttered Island waiting
For the next to come; a real
American Psycho but really
Only just like Psycho; this isn’t
A story of Gone Girl, this is a
Story of truth, I whacked the
Bitch with my shovel and feed
On her through this land needing
The pounding to end, for the pain
To stop, as with just one whack,
My Tell-Tale Heart came to an end
End
Shooter (Secret Window)
By R. Cary
Copyright 2020
Poetry & Prose By R. Cary 