Slow motion is a tricky weapon.
I felt my heart beat with each step took.
My face was fierce and red as the sun.
Everything around me shook.
Speeding up the flight of stairs,
I predicted a lofty punch.
Rage burned in my chest like solar flares.
All the students looked away from their lunch.
He was much stronger and bigger than me,
And he thought he had me in check.
His theory is wrong, and soon he will see,
As I duck under the haymaker and grab his neck.
I put my foot behind his legs and thrust,
Pushing him backward like a steel plate.
On the concrete his head will bust.
Don’t feel bad, he deserved this fate.
Upon impact he was already done,
But that wasn’t good enough for me.
I wanted to have a little more fun.
I wanted him to beg and plea,
Putting my index finger to his eye.
Deeper into the socket my finger sank,
I said, “Come cupcake, give us a cry.”
He wouldn’t abide, so I just had to yank.
His screams came to my ears like angel singers,
As through the air his vision was flinging.
The red ooze was holy water to my fingers.
But onto that eye my freedom was clinging.
I strode to where the organ hit.
I picked it up and held it high.
It was as fine a trophy as you can get.
Then I dropped it again, and stomped it dry.
Now I have a lot of time to ponder,
Sitting in this cold cell, left to rot.
What freedom is like, I often wonder,
But finishing the job is my only comforting thought.