Poetry: Preface to Murder


The dishes are left soiled in the sink,
Growing unfriendly friends of mold and stink
The table, not set and the living room, unkempt,
These and more, roots of my contempt.

Marriage introduced a new kind of rescue,
One needed from my wife and only son,
Originally, home was strictly for refuge;
Yes, home was made for fun.

But she pushes and tests me til I have no wits left,
She’s helping me on in this conclusion,
And what did she expect?

She knows her power, bites back her smile
When she withholds from me, sweet release,
Not to mention, the child, my son,
Constructs in me, an untamed beast.

I dream of places, anywhere they’re not
I’ve thought maybe I could kill them,
Buy a gun, develop a good shot.

Perhaps I’d show them more mercy,
Perhaps I’d kill soft and tenderly,
They are my family, after all,
No need to be surly.

But I know it’s only a matter of rage and time
Before these thoughts, even fantasies
Become reality,

maybe mine.

 

 

*This is fictional writing. I am not married, I don’t have a son, and certainly, I have no intention to murder.

Advertisements

Let me know what you think

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s