05.08.15 later

raw, wild, and hungry

in my prime, desired

and angry

in my crosshairs 

but 

too vain to know

my shots are clean

My shots are final

You say you’re genius

But

Sitting on a glass wand in the wind

You can’t feel me calculating wind and drop

You’re already dead 

little man

one  more 

bullet

one  less

sod