A Jolly End to all the Good Times

I asked Santa Claus for world peace one year but all I really wanted was something to shoot the squirrels in my backyard with. When Christmas morning came and all I had was pencils and socks, I accepted that I had ended up on the naughty list for being a liar. New Year’s arrived shortly after, the heavy snow burying everything out of sight. I didn’t sleep well then knowing that the vermin were still out there, curled up in their filthy dugouts under that pristine whiteness. You’ll see Santa, maybe an airgun would have been more merciful. Without it I had to get creative. Very creative.

The homeless man took this all in stride. With my luck he was already dead, he just hadn’t realized it yet. I dropped a handful of coins in his lap and got into the subway home. He would still be there tomorrow, there’s always one of them there. Their rotten faces were hard to tell apart, so you had to go off by smell.

Long Ride Home

It seemed that I would never shut up. Long away was the faceless homeless yet my craving for confession was still ablaze.

The sparse carriage offered no one suitable, everyone distracted by their smartphones. Screw their blank stares, their agape mouths almost drooling at whatever disgusting miasma was on the screen but above all what I detested the most was the inauthenticity with which they spoke to the dead air.

I decided on writing it out. Best to take my attention away from the crazed. A mother of three stared. Does she know? Does she know I’m a scribbling slurs for four pages woman you cannot understand my hatred for the mixed race baboon in your arms.

Here’s an open letter for you screw heads in the city, if you can even read that is.

Unkissed Lips

No second thoughts about unkissed lips. Women can easily tell when you’re nervous. That’s when you strike. Your heart shakes too much to be predictable. Pull the trigger you God-damn coward. She will take no for an answer but her soul’s already shut you out. Why give them the delusion of choice? Either you do it or you don’t. You’re the kisser, she’s just the kissed-to-be.

Night Visions

I tell myself the the creatures in the dark edges of my sight are real. That their teeth will rip my flesh as sure as the sun sets every evening. From gaping maws, I can almost smell it’s scream tinged breath. I keep my eyes forward. Maybe it’s just a few inches behind me, playing with its prey. I can never tell for sure. I don’t wanna give it the satisfaction of catching me unaware. I can hurt it at least before I go.

Nothing ever happens though and I always get home safe. Maybe next time.