Hunchback Poem

I'm waiting for him to step out
the door so I can follow him for
a block or two wielding a claw
for him and struggling to keep up
but not struggling too hard since
I will definitely reach him and tear
open a quality of his that he cherishes,
though I can't say which part now, but
as I'm standing under the moon's
reflections from the glass-sheathed
buildings erupting from the pavements,
like my own magnificence, my hands
quiver and I feel I will know feelings
of murder, revenge, satisfaction soon,
as remainders, and like bunches of taxis
who will stop their cars one block
down from you and I, shake their heads,
move along, ready to spot live ones,
for I am dead too, and will be long gone
too, bending around other sunken corners,
new fragments and saps itching my skull.