At night, I wander out from my basement.
Cloaked in darkness, shrouded in silence,
I unlock the old cellar door with the shiv
I keep hidden behind the wall.
I get back early enough to not let them catch on.
When they sleep, they are easy prey.
And before I leave,
I like to tower over their sleeping bodies
and feel the blood rush of endorphins
as I imagine the infinite possibilities
of shiv and sacrifice.
Lovely, lovely, sacrifice.
They think me monster.
Satan and creature
when I’m merely creation
I let them be though.
Just part of the ritual
of escaping captivity.
Every night, I become free.
They tried to keep me away,
tucked in darkness and bound in chain.
But I’m more a man, less a monster,
and I find my way to freedom.
Sometimes I run down to the river.
Cold, rushing to limited destination,
reflecting moonlight and my washed out
disfigured reflection. The river is good.
When I’m lonely, I go to the woods
and talk to the birds in their nests.
If they look like good birds,
I’ll leave them a pretty rock
or a quarter if I have one.
But if they look like bad birds,
bad baby birds,
birds who whine a little too loud,
birds who don’t listen when I talk,
birds who’d give me shit
when I lost my school books,
when I set fire to the school
as a way to compensate,
birds who’d expel me
and force me into
countless hours of a spook
with the poster of the woman
smiling but with eyes that follow
with tragic emptiness, unholy,
desecrating, vomitting on me
with unabashed motivational
lessons, making me scream
with empty sound inside my head
rattling like a cage,
with Christ descending upon me
sucking out my soul lecherous
as I try to push him off
like the termites that encompass
my distraught head,
they crawl oh god they crawl
and devour my brain with acid bites
and rapid digestion,
laying their eggs inside comfortable cavities.
I can hear the shrieks of the children
calling out in hunger and in pain
covered in bile and desecration,
demanding their food by right.
And I desire a rapid escape
or a competent medical treatment
(they tell me I need one; I don’t trust them)
to alleviate not the pain, not even the problem,
but the confusion as to why I am
and why they are
and what marks us apart.
Bad! Bad! Bad!
We are good and you are bad!
I must destroy bad to be good!
So with those kinds of birds,
those guilty guilty birds,
naughty birds filled with naughty thoughts
of headmistress untying her gown,
coming into my room at night
with luscious callings of my name...
Oh those indignant fucking birds!
Once I’m convinced
from carefully prepared judgment
I push their precarious nests
off their branch and listen
to the whistling of twigs
and laugh at the few seconds
of loud, confused shrieks
Tonight I’m not lonely anymore.
Tonight I need to make it right.
The lonely dull building
stands before me, covered in rain droplets
and shoddy craftsmanship.
This is where they labeled me a monster,
where they ruined my life!
Yes, it was they that ruined my life!
They, yes they almighty they
like gods on an unsteady precipice.
I’ll show them.
...but not tonight.
I’ll wring out that pretty neck of hers.
Right when she’s not looking,
when she gets careless.
...but not tonight.
I’ll let the shiv arrange the maker
and then run off to lasting freedom
with drips of blood staining the sheets.
...but not tonight,
no I’m not ready.
And with parting words heard only by the chill of the night wind,
he looks on the town hall with ideas of capital punishment and recompense,
but lacking the courage to do so, and the confusion as to why it should commence,
he spies the house that he’s left behind countless times... and he descends.