Wednesday, December 12, 2012
Alas, I Did Not
Your chewing gum was going to be the end of me and when they found me washed up down the shore, dismembered and such, they would ask you why I was confident that my days on this Earth would end with asphyxia, I would tell them I had a gut feeling about all of this.
And when they ask you about why my hands and feet look like blue charcoal, maybe they will take a screwdriver and go in and out of the crevices of your brain. Maybe they will look deep into the synapses belonging to your fucked up little mind and then they won't need to ask very much else.
You were relentless with the fucking gum, and it was my gum, so I ate it as fast as I could. Fast and often, so that you would stop taking it from me as if it was your own.
And when they take the coroner's tongs and stick them down my throat, I will do everything in my dead power to cough up a lung, to show them the seven years of rotting confections in these intestines of mine, all thanks to you and your greed.
Greed is a wicked thing, an intangible little device leaving lives in its wake.
I suppose this would have been fine if I knew how to swim.
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