Winner—Winner, Chicken Dinner
A Poem
This would be the one which sang the song which left his coward’s stain. It wouldn’t be heard back the same for any but his soul in shame. Cursed to be the boy of gross—that one who bled the very most. A they was she who he would see as his fair wife until the knife from heaven’s gate had seen its way into that glut of horror’s gut.
