the death of a wannabe gangster
you lived out your gangster fantasy
through association rather than ability,
you mingled with the bigger fish
and your small crew grew and thrived,
making money hand over fist
by brutality and ignorance,
a skyscraper of an ego and a vanity
that flattened itself with your dull shine.
shop keepers, business owners, pubs and clubs and bouncers
all extorted to the full, used and abused,
you made friends of no-one, just enemies of those closest
your control slips as the more powerful you become,
you demand respect from the ones that cower at your feet
the only fear that’s true is in your empty heart,
so scared are you that control will sift
your fingers clench a fist to beat someone new,
the death of a wannabe gangster shan’t be a pleasant one
anyone can see that its par for this truly shocking green,
violence breeds violence and men pushed too far
will have no choice but to swallow morals and eradicate this tired has-been,
the trouble with being at the top of the tree
is that its a really long way to fall,
and all those new branches that began to sprout as you climbed
you’ll hit them all as you descend to a bloody mess on the floor,
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