(content) The Armchair Vigilante

[heslopian]

when I hear about some cunt on the news
who entertained the local men
with midnight romps while the child she bore at thirteen
slept in its own excrement,
hungry and scared and alone,
beaten if it cries too much,
my face becomes a grim death mask,
the kind you’d see on torn posters
in the background of a nightmare world.

I see vans labelled TORTURE SQUAD,
burly constables squatting inside,
as somebody takes said cunt’s child,
puts it with a family,
then leaves before the large men come,
hustling the mother back inside the house
before she has time to escape.

they’d do their job methodically,
tying her down and pounding her arse
with the butt of a shotgun,
snapping her pelvis like a wishbone,
smashing her head on the stove,
removing her breasts and draining the milk,
leaving her crippled, shattered
on the floor. then the boyfriend,

the one already suspected
of fiddling neighbourhood girls,
the one who cut the child's face
when it spilt a drink on the floor.

they’d reduce him to a sexless state
above his girlfriend’s bloody corpse,
force feed him his own ball sac
and choke him on his pubic hair.

Then the mess would be cleaned, the bodies removed
and burned somewhere
in a charnel house built for such things,
and the world would continue, unmoved.

[billy]

when I hear about some cunt on the news
who entertained the local men
with midnight romps while the child she bore at thirteen
slept in its own excrement,
hungry and scared and alone,
beaten if it cries too much,
my face becomes a grim death mask,
the kind you’d see on torn posters
in the background of a nightmare world. powerful start

I see vans labelled TORTURE SQUAD,
burly constables squatting inside,
as somebody takes said cunt’s child,
puts it with a family,
then leaves before the large men come,
hustling the mother back inside the house
before she has time to escape.

they’d do their job methodically,
tying her down and pounding her arse
with the butt of a shotgun,
snapping her pelvis like a wishbone,
smashing her head on the stove,
removing her breasts and draining the milk,
leaving her crippled, shattered
on the floor. then the boyfriend,

the one already suspected
of fiddling neighbourhood girls,
the one who cut the child's face
when it spilt a drink on the floor.

they’d reduce him to a sexless state
above his girlfriend’s bloody corpse,
force feed him his own ball sac
and choke him on his pubic hair. is his needed, we can assume if its his sac it's his pubes.

Then the mess would be cleaned, the bodies removed
and burned somewhere
in a charnel house built for such things,
and the world would continue, unmoved.

quite a powerful rant as to how the 1st person would want such offenders dealt with.
it shows the darker side of our culture in a non too pristine world.
most of the feeling i would think are prevalent in most normal people, which is some ways shows our base instincts as animals.

the 1st verse was solid in setting up the horrific scenario.
and the rant that graphically followed gave an insight in to the rage such acts bring out in us.
sorry i didn't do more of an in depth on the content jack but i couldn't see anything i'd want to change apart from that one little nit.

good write,
thanks for the read.

[heslopian]

Thanks for the kind words and feedback Bilbo. I'll remove the two "his" words once I've finished this. The poem was inspired by the reaction a lot of people had following the infamous "Baby P" case in London, if you heard about that. It's also a massively exaggerated extension of a conversation I once had with my dad, where we talked about how useful it would be if repeat child abusers received a visit from a burly constable who'd knock them around a bit and threaten them with further violence if they continue the abuse or keep on breeding. I compared them to rats and said that violence is the only language they understand. I don't think we were far off from devising a final solution

[Verbavore]

The final line adds a new dimension to this. It's dark and horrific to start out with and the final line is the kicker, because something equally horrific is occurring even now, and we are none the wiser. It surely gives anyone cause to think... Plus this poem speaks volumes about the culture behind how people think about what should be done to those who are stupid enough to willingly go on shows titled "My wife is pregnant, but she deserved a beating"

[heslopian]

"My wife is pregnant, but she deserved a beating"

I know this is sick, but I would watch that show. And so would the armchair vigilante, I think.
Thanks for your kind words, Verbavore.

[billy]

if a show isn't worth ranting at then the vigilante will change channels.

i'm really bad when it comes to watching tv