Despair is like leprosy
It eats at your face first,
Its claws ripping at your eyes,
Then attacking your throat.
You might scream but stopping
Your destructive instinct
Can’t be done,
even if Freud bothered little
With results,
A man must do
What he must do,
His life in ruins,
His daughter dead,
And the poison creeping
Into his soul,
The blood of his enemy
Staining his hands.
And he looked for a weapon,
Something to cut
His throat.
Why let the police
Find him alive?
What more could
They do?
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