Sarcasm That Killed

The rotten eggs thrown in my show
The boos and the spits land on my face
To see my hard work, my spirit and soul
To be spat upon, is a nasty taste.

As if this was not enough,
I was made to stand, and to be laughed.
However, there’s something twice as bad.
Sarcasm that is, by far the worst I’ve had.

It’s not the direct way to say
I dislike you, please go away.
‘Roses are red, violets are blue,
Some shows are good, but some are eeew.’

It is the assassin in the dark,
Aiming closely at your chest
He slowly walks, quietly lurks,
A bead of sweat trickles down, dampening his vest.

And when he has the golden chance,
He jolts up, and pulls the trigger.
The bullet wheezes through the air
Ripping your heart apart like a cougar.

As if this was not enough,
The assassin is there to rub tons of salt.
Onto that open wound of yours, tough.
And stations there, grinning to himself.

It’s a slap in the face, a kick in the stomach.
A sucker-punch on the lower jaw.
I was blinded throughout the assault.
I can’t see who’s attacking me at all!

They leave me for dead,
They trot happily away.
A last kick on my head,
To make sure I’m gone by day.
To shut my mouth, so I cannot say.

Sarcasm is that very knife,
The blood stained one, that took my life.
If I had a chance to rebel
Sarcasm is the first to go to hell.

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