Google It

Google it.


I wrote in 'Dickhead.'
Hoped it'd show
a picture of him, with his ebony hair
and his infectious stare

and, like a dead carcass, me right there
at his feet. My hands would be tied
together and dyed in crimson.
My lips would be cracked where he cut them

with his razorblade kisses
meant as misses to my cheeks.
Avenge me.
It all looks so bleak -
 
but if you Google 'Dickhead', you won't find him
and you won't find me. It was murderless crime.
It was a merciless crime
and I'm empty, like the vial of poison

already downed without a sound
by Romeo. It's all a fantasy.
Shakespeare lied. Google lied.
Bury me with the wolves and feed

me to the Twilight society. I'll bleed
once - last time for him, before he googles
it and finds nothing beautiful enough
for reading, nothing beautiful enough

for looking, nothing beautiful
like him. Confession time, Google knows all.
It knows enough about 'Chuck Norris' to kick his arse.
Avenge me.