The Mugger
I wander the late-night streets,
clutching a head in a sack
to my chest.
A guy pulls a gun on me,
snarls, “That’s mine.
Hand it over.”
By his dark eyes,
pale cheeks,
crooked mouth,
I can tell he’s lying.
John Grey
Published
I wander the late-night streets,
clutching a head in a sack
to my chest.
A guy pulls a gun on me,
snarls, “That’s mine.
Hand it over.”
By his dark eyes,
pale cheeks,
crooked mouth,
I can tell he’s lying.
Horror Sleaze Trash 