To Father #2

Don't think I'm oblivious
To what you did to my mother.
Tried to hide me from the obvious,
I HOPE YOU GET SLAUGHTERED MOTHERFUCKER!
If someone doesn't do it I will,
The victim of the hate is the suspect of the kill.
Enjoying the crack,
of your bones beneath my feet,
No I don't hate you because you're black.
Display of blood, skin, and bones is quite neat.
I'm not anymore a sweet little girl.
I'm a teen out for healing her wounds.
My life and feelings are a til-a-whirl.
My heart feels penetrated by a million harpoons.
Tear your heart out with bare hands,
Feel the delightful squish between my fingers.
Your blood running out like time's sands.
The delicious gore on the wall still lingers.
Ripping your entrails apart,
Loving the warm spray on my face.
Spewing blood is such an art.
After reading this poem you won't want to come back to this place.