Terrorist

 
His/her muse is a fuse
Inside themselves and inside a mechanism that goes boom
Right or wrong its a rosy ruse
Leaving a plethora of plutonium perfume.


A focused bunch who know the value of the crunch
Chaos is for heros hot for heat at the edge of hell
Playing their hunch
Not waiting for thoughts to dwell.

Marching to midnight
Disintegration on the plate
And still pleasantly polite
By killing they get to relate.

Undo's all done.
Left with the looniness and whatever can be spun..