He couldn’t shot….a poem.

Posted byEugene HardyPosted inPersonal Journal, Personal Mysticism, PoetryTags:, , , ,

I liked penises,
and
went to a man-whore’s house.

Another kid caught me sneaking out
at night, “got you you faggot!”
and shot
me dead.

Went to hell,
touched the flames….
and they were fake.

The devil was fake….

“pop”

The boy pointed his revolver
and I stood my ground,

Then I walked away….

Lesson learned: the revolver is,
but hell is fake.

Published by Eugene Hardy

Learning how to be a better human being through poetry, prose and my journal. Still working on a better life in San Diego, CA..... Truth is, I am just another human among eight billion other folks on planet Earth. I've been told that my poetry is dark. I practice poetry.