Yeah...

Nixonian

So... poem of sorts, by me. If it's anyway good, I have a few more. I hate my writing with a passion lately, but, When in Rome...

How does it look?
Your once handsome face.
Still inviting, albeit, from looks so aghast.
How does it taste?
The blood on your tongue.
That metallic sweet, savoured, lest your greed leave you wanting.
How does it feel?
To have your breath stolen.
Marks 'round your neck for the others to see.
"How does it live?
No comfort, no hope.
It lives, for it has but one purpose: revenge."