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