A Poem for Dzhokhar

You and your brother thought it would be fun to blow up a bunch of innocent people.

You smiled as you placed a bomb right next to an eight-year-old kid.

You really thought you'd get away with it.

You were wrong.

Now your brother is a speed bump and you have a hole in your throat.

Now you get to spend the rest of your life in a cell waiting to die.

How will it end?  With a needle in your arm or a shiv in your thigh?

Your lunatic mother can't save you.

Your idiot groupies can't save you.

I hope your cellmate loves your puppy dog eyes as much as they do.

Don't drop the soap.

Don't drop the soap.

Don't drop the soap.

Don't drop the soap.