Bodies dangling by necks,
From weathered nooses.
Necks tilted,
In breaks or asphyxiations.
Stunted visages of life –
Brought low,
Left to rot in wind & rain & sun,
As grim warning.
Such is the work of tyrants.
Ideal prey,
For a monster that eats monsters,
Like me.
Guillotines For Billionaires.
Ideal Prey.
