HUMAN NATURE HUMAN TORTURE

October 20, 2013
chris

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