The Depressed Spy's Poem

My bullet-proofed three piece suit won’t endure this shooting.

My fireproof tuxedo won't protect me from your henchmen.

My laser watch won’t cut my way out of this titanium cage.

My night vision glasses won’t let me see along this pitch dark maze.

My exploding pen won't stop your neverending minions from coming.

The switchblade in my right shoe won’t free me from these chains.

What about my Aston Martin?

Well

The hidden missiles behind my headlights won’t avoid my collision.

My ejector seat won’t save me from getting caught by your army upon my landing.

And let’s not talk about my Lotus Spirit.

It may transform into a submarine,

and that’s cool.

But it won’t be able to reach your underwater lair in the Mariana Trench.

Too much pressure, too much effort.

My grappling hook cellphone won’t save me from falling into your hollow volcano.

And finally, you got me. Ambushed.

Or maybe I’m just tired of running. Tired of saving the world.

"The Super Spy, Super Alone, and Super Forgotten" 

You want me to talk.

A laser slowly getting closer to my crotch.

A piranha ridden tank waiting for my flesh.

And you want me to talk.

But I won’t.

My last resource is the concealed cyanide pill inside my fake molar.

Conquer the world Evil Mastermind, I failed.

They will replace me. You will replace me. 

I'm expendable, for you, for my homeland.

I don’t care anymore.

As long as I keep my secrets.

Queen and Country, safe and sound.

With villains

and me

six feet underground. 

Julio Ortiz