The Victim

if you looked at the knives in his back
buried deep with edges so fine
you'd want to change his name
to Mr. Pommel Porcupine

he is the victim, crouching
in the pool of his own tears
the water is now dirty and cold
ripples rending reflection unclear

he tries to reach for the knives
at least he pretends to do so
the look in his eyes is pleading
his wounds never stop their bleeding

does he seek sympathy?
pieces of silver, or time?
the teeth are filed on the piece of shit
that we called the Pommel Porcupine

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The potential to rage tirelessly is strong with this one.