Mars Hotel
2001-09-23 07:29:45 (UTC)

Hatred for My Mother's Husband

visions cloud my mind
visions of your pain
caused by the blunt object
I clutch in my hand
with a grasp that whitens my knuckles

my desire...
my desire is to see you doubled over
with your hands up
as if to plead "Stop, stop"
and you're down on your knees
lacking the ability to stand up
because I've beaten you just hard enough
to make that task difficult

yet stupidly you try to hoist yourself up anyway
which arouses the vented anger within me to rise again
and I raise my hand with my weapon
and bring it down on you again

"Feel her pain, you mother fucker."
I say with eery calmness in my voice.
"I hope you and your whore go to hell.
If I ever see you again, I'll kill you."

Then I'm jolted back to reality...
a reality where assault is a felony
and I'm powerless to make you feel pain
because in order to feel pain, one must be
able to feel

a multitude of oceans could not quench the
fire of hate that will take an eternity to burn out
even as I see your face in my mind,
my breathing becomes shallow
and my fists clench
I cannot see straight and all I can
think about is
how I can torture your soul

I wish you harm
I wish you more harm that I've ever wished
I hope you choke on your own shallow breath
I hope your death is slow and arduous
and in your final moments, you realize all the
hurt you've caused and it makes dying
that much more difficult for you to endure