Fleeting through my mind
As indiscriminate thoughts do
So small so hard to catch
What would you find if the aging reflexes of your dying husk were to catch one?
What would they mean to anyone but you?
I met a lesbian once
She hated men for no other reason other than they existed
She talked of their anger
The evil that they do to women
Their natural born anger for the living
She uttered her words as foam built up on the corners of her mouth
So much anger within herself
Too much hate
She spoke of them
She spoke of herself
What made her become a living oxymoron?
Her father, or brother’s maybe?
That Uncle who only came on the holidays
To fill her life with pain and misery
As Santa left presents under the tree
So very much a Shakespeare tragedy
I never liked reading Shakespeare
He had this underlying ease for killing children
I’ve been told I too have the same underlying ease for pointing out the bad
When it comes to humanity on the whole
Still
At least it’s not about children
I’m only pointing out what others think
Many say I should keep it to myself
Why?
Who are these people to dictate my words?
My actions
Like man hating lesbians telling me I should have died at birth
Then turning around and asking for a match
The hypocrisy of human nature
It shines brightest when in the presence of nobodies
Shines darkest in a small girls room
While Christmas music plays Jingle bell rock somewhere down stairs
No different as we pass a traffic accident
Rubber necking most people call it
Trying to steal a glimpse at some poor bastard
Feeling sorrow for a stranger
When we secretly thank God it was not us
Like a smoker hearing of a friend that had died of Cancer
First reaction is to reach for the pack
Muttering “Jesus” as you inhale the toxins
Muttering your thanks
As you slowly die
Believing it could never happen to you
Cancer is something other people get
Those less fortunate than you
Like car accidents and Uncles that like to play games under your bed sheets
Like Shakespearean tragedies
The fallen Kings and the common folk that help to bring forth their demise
You are the King,
Your Uncle
That pack of cigarettes.
The metal tomb you drive to work
They are the common folk
The betrayers to the realm
As a fallen King lays motionless
Strangers pass silently by
Speaking of sorrow
While silently thanking God
It was you and not themselves