They were struck, beaten, and slaughtered,
Like, and literally both,
Their original intentions ignored, and dishonored,
I couldn’t watch as the youth tore them apart,
Like the intentions of a fat kid, eyeing a Pop Tart.
Like was killed, it’s meaning now useless,
The brutality of the teenage tongue,
Left the poor word’s veins juiceless,
They left the sorry conjunction lying there, in pain,
Gasping for air, waiting for it’s inevitable slain,
Muttering its last words, “My death will not be in vein!”
Oh, and for literally, originally cultivated,
Died by misuse, and was suffixcated.
|Auteur:||iamnickhall op woensdag, 14 okt 2015|
|Licentie:||Copyright, Alle rechten voorbehouden|