The Cunning Linguist

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Psychopath {A Poetic Short Story}

CATEGORY

just different

July 2014

Lonnie knew the streets like Coca-Cola knew the can,

a tombstone in the boneyard for whoever knew the man,

he double crossed more people than the dude at Enron did,

he didn't care because his thought was "In the end I'm big."

This warm night in particular presented no complaints,

for Lonnie as he ran his dope spot since his doe was straight,

he'd beaten down some fiends who tried to pull the okie doke,

then let his pistol spark which left the barrel blowin' smoke.

He barked his orders fiercely while demanding his respect,

and didn't hesitate to put the cannon to the chest,

of any m*thaf*cka who would wanna bring it there,

the next thing that he knew his legs were swingin' in the air.

Reachin' for The Nina Lonnie brought it up to squeeze, until his eyes were watering as though he oughta sneeze,

then something hit his heart that had him heavin' from the chest,

a fear this life was done and he'd be leavin' to the next.

Lonnie stared while shiv'ring; shook at Newark's real psychopath,

Duron LeBoe; a vigilante who on sight goes H.A.M.,

tonight is no alternative from what's perceived as norm,

the eyes are of a tortured soul and Lonnie sees it's on.

"Well well well," LeBoe says; adding to it "tsk-tsk-tsk,"

but only after Lonnie's neck is pinned against the fence,

"I see you out here grindin' hard and steady stackin' bread,

see all that's cool just tell me where to find that b@st@rd Red."

Red Malone was leader of a cocaine syndicate,

responsible for all the weed and yayo in The Bricks,

LeBoe was after him and wouldn't stop until his head,

detached 'cause it was Red who'd shot his mom and poppa dead.

"LeBoe I don't know where he's at; we haven't talked in weeks,"

and that was after knuckles richocheted from off his teeth,

through bleeding lips so swollen Lonnie hollered "It's the truth!",

LeBoe then reached beneath his trench and came out with The Proof,

a small Israeli shotgun with a silver plated grip,

the fear turned Lonnie's stomach into rivers made of sh!t,

which ran all down his leg and out his jean shorts; clear the room,

the barrel pressed to Lonnie's head and people heard the BOOM!

July 1997

Duron LeBoe was twelve years old and skinny as a pole,

he sat out on his porch this night to watch the women go,

all back and forth to cars from out the strip club 'cross the street,

the owner's name was Red Malone and he would often be,

outside directing traffic from the scores of hoes and johns,

the fast food sex was just one of the many goings on,

that clogged up Lyons Avenue each night and to no end,

Duron had even scoped out Newark policemen going in.

His parents called the precinct many times to make complaints,

but nothing ever came of it since Red was makin' bank,

and didn't care 'bout sharing with a dirty cop or two,

Red saw himself a businessman who knew how NOT to lose.

A red car turned the corner and Duron was hoppin' mad,

he knew the only person that could stop make him stop; his dad,

would not look kindly on him peepin' women out for thrills,

cause when it came down to it sh!!!!!t; his pops was out to kill!

Lamont LeBoe stepped out the car and rolled his tired neck,

then noticed how his son just couldn't keep his eyes in check,

the hookers had him drooling and Lamont was sickened by,

ol' Red Malone and how police assist his gettin' by.

At six foot five; three hundred pounds of muscle draped his frame,

Lamont knew that his size and strength alone could change the game,

he evilly eyed Red Malone; as tough as brazen came,

a smaller man with less heart prob'ly wouldn't have said a thang.

Lamont though saw things diff'rently; a teaching for his son,

to never be afraid to speak your mind; see anyone,

could label you as soft but actions spoke out over words,

cause really heinous actions us'lly broke out over verbs.

"Hey you!" Lamont yelled loudly as he moved across the Ave.,

"It's f*cked up what you're doin' and it makes me awf'lly mad,

that you don't have the decency to watch the ways you run,

you're doin' all your business; what does THAT say to my son?!"

Malone just laughed as though Lamont was pestilent; a fly,

and that's the time Lamont's wife Ann then chose to step outside,

"C'mon Lamont, don't waste your efforts on a simple pimp,"

Red then took off his shades, "You need to listen to ya' b!tch.

You can't control your young'n that's YOUR problem; never mine,

cause Red's gon do the proper thing to elevate his shine,

now step back off me Big Man 'fore I have to pull a switch,

you're 'bout to make me lose my d@mn composure out this b!tch!"

Lamont then had a look comparable to havin' gas,

poor Ann was just too slow to reach his writing hand that grabbed,

the perm that Red had patted while the right hand punched and smashed,

so hard and fast some thought Red's face was givin' up the @ss.

This went on for some minutes 'til Red's goonies intervened,

it took three on each arm to stop Big Monty's vicious beating,

Red touched his lips and felt the blood as it poured out non-stop,

he then retrieved his gun to let off hot ones POP! POP! POP!

Lamont's arms were let go since he no longer raged to breathe,

his eyes closed as his body fell facedown into the street,

his wife Ann screamed out "NOOOOOO!" to see her husband lying still,

Red turned the gun upon her; POP! POP! POP!; the night was filled,

with silence playing sirens getting closer by the sec,

Duron ran to his mother; tried to hold her by the neck,

and stop the blood from going down her throat; she bled with calm,

Duron then grimly realized how like half her head was gone.

Red turned his smoking pistol on Duron as he sat still,

and rubbed his mother's forehead shootings daggers that could kill,

"C'mon Red; yo let's go!" one of the henchman sqealed his way,

a Tahoe came from nowhere; scooped them up and peeled away.

The aftermath was full of diff'rent sirens in the night,

police were asking questions but Duron was quite alright,

he didn't tell them nothing but his parents' death was felt,

Duron then vowed in blood soaked clothes to go get Red himself....

July 2014

Loose lips sunk all kinds of ships but Lonnie's flapped with wind,

before his death he'd told Duron where Red was all shacked in,

now hidden under camoflauge Duron saw clear as day,

the moves Red made in jest; displaying all his fear was g@y.

Red didn't know for certain who was killing all his men,

destroying all his product or whose blood would spill again,

he entered in his traphouse thinkin' how to swallow time,

completely unaware he's being followed right inside....

To Be Continued

in "War Of A Psychopath"....

The Cunning Linguist

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COMMENTS


		ChynaRedzz says: Damnnn, a storyline n poetry #ILike poems by this commentor Knowledge Tainted Is Your Heart Really Yours??

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