The Bludgeoned Face

The moon peeped out a wee-bit from underneath its veil
As I walk down the road
My walking stick as company and shadows to tail
I now see some black liquid gleaming dull
That engulfs my feet, and to my walking stick sticks strange
As the stench of death fills the air
As I go ahead to inspect the matter fair and square
Rotting smells leap into my nose, as I go ahead
And I push aside the bramblethorn with my hand, my head in place
The weakening streetlight gleams for its last moment
To reveal me a horribly bludgeoned face
Shocked, I scream loud and run, lost is all feeling of slience and content.
I run to the police booth, and tell them about the place
And surprised, they follow me where the body lay
Shocked, they now lay sealing the place
They take my statement, then tell me to walk away
For my own good, they say
But lost is my good now
For how can I forget
The night, the moon, the stench in the air?
And most importantly
How can I forget
The bludgeoned face?


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