Pissed
Consumed with murder, my thoughts roil
A simple killing, nothing extraordinary, nothing with much spilled blood
Authorities must neither suspect nor pursue me as a person of interest
Despite my apparent lack of remorse.
It’s irrelevant that my deed favors anyone besides myself
I’m disposed to rid myself of this menace once and for all
The purge of a malignancy has festered too long behind my heart.
I shall free my ears of its wretched voice
I shall free my eyes of its vile look
I shall free myself of its smothering presence.
My lungs fill to capacity with the thought, and immerse in the fresh air
Crisp and welcoming as an island sunrise.
The wherewithal I have, presents no problem
There is an abundance of opportunity
To commit the crime and not suffer consequences
To plot and then carry out the perfect murder.
Isn’t it wonderful?
Do I have the nerve?
Am I a cold-blooded murderer?
Alas, if not for the courage of conscience
If not for the want of a blackened heart
I would kill my mother’s surgeon in a snap.
Tonight, human frailty sits at the head of the table
And again, dines as my master.
©2023 Bill Canepa