Title art by LH Grey

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Death In Vegas “Hands Around My Throat”

A poet and I bloody well know it
Lo and behold, if not sound reason to take hold of the reigns of every brain wave that’s in season, heavy flow
Not about to tell as I would much prefer to show it
Shedding former skin as it’s a sin not to outgrow it
Concede to feed this seed and I shall then proceed to sow it
Bleeding out all seeders predisposing to veto it
Leading me to exile, “X”ing out that extra mile
While I bat these lashes, flash this winning smile then duly go it

The streets here have no name
Yet it is here I shall remain, if it is really all the same
Seems a shame to go towards the grain
When I can stake my claim against it
Call me out as snitch but I hear life can prove a bitch
Dishing out death twitches, should we miss a trick and God forbid we waste it

Be needing wits about us, stout double on devout
To ride beneath the lines of scripture, figure this shit out
Not about the destination, but the journey holds some clout
In for thirty silver pieces , yet not a single shout
Taken out and for the count
Fazing out like crazy paving
Making out that we’re behaving
Acting out and in the name of bent intent on trending praises

Racing rats forever trapped in labyrinthine mazes
Scurrying for precious air while in the later stages of decay within these labor-saving cages
Containment by arrangement of the one who doth estrange us
Snatching hatching babies from their mangers

If I were set to wager bet
Or better yet, wage full-scale war
Then the devil’s in the detail I am fighting for
Smiting ain’t my style, you see
Flicked through war and straight to peace
Call this valve my due release of all the things that make me seethe
Choking on the smoke, with no pure oxygen to breathe
Rigging up the swing vote, Fuck Pedro – vote for me

Algorithm dynamite, with fight of nights Trafalgar
Each biting sprite a call to arms to those inclined to fatal charm
Would chance both arms with bleeding palms
Do so while skim reading Psalms
Call me half a martyr, but I am the master of my own stigmata
Bastardized wild child, you know – the snide you cast aside O, heavenly father

Fuck playing out for a bout of man-made pride
When I can pose to show out, blow out one last time
And should you think this hate crime
Then you’re not reading the rhyme right
Should you see me bleeding out here in the limelight
Then proceed to feast, extract the yeast, and find some peace of mind, right

Intensity required as complexity inspires the fire
Thereafter burning rafters to the spire
Hell hath no fury like the scorn of the fallen
Know well how to expel, until now I’ve just been stalling
There’s method to each madness and no less than blessed demeanor
Twin of flame, that’s two to maim and just one name to make it even sweeter
Heading back to Chapel Black to catch the double feature
Preaching fact to all you heavy bleeders

Richard Charles Stevens

Keeper of The Crimson Quill

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