They call me ‘A Cuckoo’.
Because I always know the right time for death.
I don’t have ESP.
I don’t have a magic mascot or subtle vibes.
I don’t have an affiliation with the ‘Fortune-teller’ Club.
I just know it.
And I’m calm.
They can aggro.
They can say I’m a gory, cruel bird.
I’m a fucking accounting cuckoo.
I’m calm.
One… Two… Three…
They can’t bust out.
I stand on the roof.
Four… Five…
I lift my munition – a bow and arrows with cuckoo’s feathers.
I close my left eye…
Six… Seven…
It’s so easy!
It’s like skeet…
Eight… Nine…
Welcome to hell, loser!
by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2014
unbolt me 
lumpy remnants of a healed sty across the eyelid).
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Yes to whatever it is you meant. 😛
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The Cuckoo lets her arrows free, to fly and find their mark. A deadly cupid? 😉
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Damn… Tony, you’re the very first who read this one correctly 😉
A deadly cupid! Exactly!
The apple-shot, William Tell!
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Dark my friend, very dark!
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Hmmm…
I’m not too sure if this a compliment or a reprobation. Or just an ascertaining of the fact?
Anyway, thank you for reading and commenting 🙂
Take care!
Yours, Unbolt
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