Hobbyist - from Stu

This piece is written by a work associate, my reply is post below...

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It was such an old fashioned deal

An act of affection, I’m told.

No time for any weapons,

Or blunt instruments to be found

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An attack of the most personal kind

With hands tightly around my neck

Fingers pressing in to my windpipe

Blocking the vital air supply.

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Before I knew what was going on

My world began to grow dark

And suddenly the only thing that mattered

Was to fight back

Retaliate

Make right.

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So I beat and I scratched

But all to no avail

My lungs screamed for another breath

And a voice from the back said

I told you I’d get you in the end

.

But at least when they found me

slumped over the steering wheel

All they had to do

Was scrape under my nails

And match the DNA.