S.A.M.

THE VENGENCE OF SELF- He laid his hands on the horns of the altar and called himself a man, I called this man my enemy but pleaded he, a friend. I looked him right into his eyes to die a death of things, He whispered whips into my ears and died a death of kings. My rings are heavy, weighing down my multitude of pride; I tried to sleep the days away for in the nights I cried. My mouth rejects the tastless sweet, regurgitate my lows; This man I loved as brothers do, a hatred in my woe. And death will take the softest gun to hammer in my heart, While what is left holds more the weight, MY death will play it's part.