Tales from the Bartender

Hangman's Row

The smell of forgotten meat lingers in the air,
Tobacco smoke rises from the chasm of his mouth,
I choke down the last breath of foul air I will ever need,

The hangman slowly guides me to the trapdoor,
He utters not a word but one could feel his prayer,
A good clean drop that shatters spines his only wish,

The noose around my neck tightens and I feel the weight of my sins,
The gallows seems to me as the first and last confessional I will ever see,
And my executioner as the priest, who will absolve my transgressions,

The real priest drunk from rum refuses to give me last rights,
And if he did, he could guarantee that the host would burn my tongue,
I smile weakly for I know my drop would go on to the pits of hell,

The crowds gather to witness my final moments on earth,
Some are there with delight on their faces and satisfaction in their hearts,
But some are simply bored with their tired lives and crave some amusement,

The hour of my execution comes to a close and I drop from the gallows,
My neck broke in two and the darkness slowly poured into my eyes,
The last thing that I ever saw was the grinning face of a little girl,

Such are the tales of a dying man, whose only sin was to love,
I loved each and every one of my so-called victims,
I desired not only their flesh but also their innocence that fueled me,

Never again will I taste young and full lips,
Or warm and succulent flesh between my thighs,
My garrote shall miss the long slender necks it use to crush,

I am a murderer that deserves his death by hanging,
But I am also a lover that merely acted out his heart’s desire,
In the end am I really a sinner for being a goddamn romantic?

posted by Ben Bulac @ 5:33 AM