Fall Of A Psychopath {A Poetic Short Story}

July 2014

Red Malone was statue still as he sat there and watched,

the red dot and he wondered if he really cared or not,

the mirror showed him nothing as in just who held the gun,

the killer blended with the shadows; having h3ll'a fun.

"You might as well come out and get your business over with,"

Red yelled out to the dark side of the room "C'mon you b!tch!,

I didn't get to where I am by being scared of guns,

I've sold 'em, stole and used 'em; sh!!!!!!t I even carry one."

Duron LeBoe moved closer so that Red Malone could see,

his six foot seven stature like a field mouse would a tree,

the red dot stayed real steady on Malone's forehead indeed,

he told LeBoe "You aint gon get too much for deadin' me,

'cause as we speak my goon squad's doin' fifty up the ave,

they're gonna find you here and then they'll prob'ly hit you bad,

see just a word from me will cancel out your surgery,

if not they're gonna f**kin' murder thee most urgently."

LeBoe gave no reaction to the words Malone had said,

the red dot still as summer winds stayed prone upon the head,

of one cat he'd been waiting almost twenty years to murk,

he'd tried to curb the appetite but plenty years in church,

had done nothing but multiply the rage inside his veins,

he'd done things that would guarantee he'd age inside a cage,

his target marked; the pistol lowered just a little bit,

he then said "Lemme tell you 'bout my journey little b!tch...."

September 1997

Climbing up the stairway to the group home made him sad,

but knowing why he had to do so only made him mad,

the vision of his parents' bodies splattered in the street,

had turned his warm heart cold and all that mattered was the heat,

he felt rise up inside him as he thought of Red Malone,

and knew he'd never rest until his @ss was dead; alone,

the young LeBoe was focused on accomplishing said task,

whoever tried to stop him would possess the deadest @ss.

9 hours later....

Bouncing from the group home wasn't hard as he first thought,

a yard slipped to the guard proved any person could be brought,

he hightailed up the ave and found his uncle Shifty Charles,

had finished shakin' down some cats for dope and fifty large.

"Little D my n1gga; what's the business?" Charles inquired,

Duron replied "Malone, his peeps; I want 'em ALL to die!"

"I feel you," Charles shot back. "That m**ha***a killed my sis!",

the anger brought a tiny drop of spittle to his lips.

The next few years were spent amidst a crash course of the hood,

his uncle taught him ev'rything on how to force a hood,

like Red Malone into a corner; syphon all his funds,

then knock off all his peoples one by one with knives and guns.

Then real slow-like and surely Charles and he did like the feds,

just takin' drugs and paper leavin' each kid nice and dead,

at all of Red M's dope spots; it was bigger than a flood,

their guns were raining bullets and the n1ggas swam in blood,

that is until The 12th Street Massacre of 2K9,

that spot had fifty killers glued like stickers to dey Nines,

they hit Charles like a PickIt number guaranteed 'em dough,

LeBoe had barely made it out; what else you need to know?!

July 2014

"That war was sumthin," Red said while revisiting the past,

"it f**ked up all my business yo; I'm glad it didn't last."

"Who said it didn't?" asked LeBoe who let the b@stard know,

revenge was all that mattered as six hot ones clapped his dome.

LeBoe let out a tired breath; it fine'lly was the end,

he didn't seem to hear the goonies creepin' rightly in,

so caught up the victory; that monster killin' squad,

ran in there locked and ready and their choppers spit like Nas.

The bullets hit like land mines had gone off inside his skin,

LeBoe had set 'em up; he heard them n1ggas slidin' in,

they crept toward his body cooked like chicken legs; no skin,

that's when they saw that hand grenades surrounded him; no pins....

©2014

The Cunning Linguist