Silent Again

That is me
the dead terrorist
now that I am all bones and dust
I may confess
I was a cheater
a narcissist all my wicked life
my own throat though
strangled me
poetic justice
even little rabbits
cowered in fear
would I be nice
or strangle

no one at the funeral
other than a  Mormon
as fake as me
lowered into  the ground
he laughed
you are now dead as my children
we had different gods
the beauty is we grew
from the same weed
of hate