Not Always Pretty

Sometimes I like to imagine

Just for the sake of my pleasure

The sight of your face in a blender,

While you writhe on the ground,

Broken and bleeding like prey,

Stuck in the mouth of a lion,

While I sit there laughing,

With crowbar in hand

And a smile on my face. 

It’s not so much caused by hate,

But more a failure to relate.

The thing we can’t share is space,

My actions won’t follow command.

So I’ll sit here absently crafting,

Your demise some day when I fly in,

Dismissing the words that you pray

When that knee’s bent the wrong way around,

Twisted like some car’s wrecked fender.

Made thus as a point of my leisure.



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