The Gun That Owned Jimmy Omavi Victorine
This is the gun It’s not a big gun Compact and silver Fitted snugly into his palms Power radiated from it Manhood permeated Jimmy felt like a true man
Floated on a cold steel high A velocity rush Jimmy derived strength From the barrel of death Pointed in the direction Of another mother’s son
The small bulge of power Nestled in the small of his back The feel of cool metal Any minute now it can be hot Brought greatness to the boy Who wished he was a man A metal cylinder of horrors His right hand man
Televised brainwashing Created the gun and Jimmy The combination of ignorance And power Festered in a twisted warped mind The systematic lobotomy Of effective parenting Made this union strong
The curse of false strength Excised any sense of Right and wrong A conceived coat of Indestructible armor Fueled by misplaced Beliefs of invincibility The power of this gun
In my calloused hands I hold this gun
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