Who would win in a battle
Of brain against brawn?
When your flesh becomes your only weapon
To defend the scorned.
The scorned being you,
Humiliated and impassioned
And in need of retribution
By any means.
But in this world
You are provided with only one
Where guns and knives are at the hands of none
When in the game of vengeance
The choice is yours, young fellow
The rules are quite clear and concise
You may have brawn or you may have brain
Physical strength or wisdom’s gains
Many a fool chose brawn
As blind fury can lead one to believe
That physical injuries will suffice
That blood and gore is what you need.
But I, a wordsmith, of the venomous sort
Know more of the delightful damage my words can do
I have just the thing to leave a sting,
The enduring tormenting kind
If the brain is something that interests you.
If so, I can assist you in your malefic endeavours
Teach you the power of mental wounds
Skill you in the art of breaking a heart
Without breaking a sweat.
I know how to kill a person
From the inside out
The type of pain they can never treat
The type of death they can never escape
I know of a death that greets you every waking hour
That will paralyse and steal your life
Until it is nothing
But a succession of torment, that you are forced to relive & relive
Now, if that is something that interests you, fine fellow,
I am just the wordsmith for you
Brute force can get you so far, but
With brains, with me, words can get you the rest of the way.
The choice is always yours.