Passion (Counterfeit Suicide Note Written Once Only) Poem by Stan Petrovich

In the integers of dark
Morning, I live & pine
For your return,
My bloodstained tongue
A cheek away from insanity.
Mobster movies are on.
Their guns do nothing but
Make the victims slowly slump;
That isn't right. When I shoot people
In the dead of night,
They fly backwards,
Scraping pavement, then halt all of the sudden.
I have not come alone:
I have this; I have that.
You have to be mine again
Or you will be forced to.
'Antisocial Behavior Disorder'
Is what he said I represent,
So I shoved the table onto his shins,
Hearing them crack
To my delight.

But like Cagney lit ablaze in White Heat
I will now shoot myself between the teeth-