His daughter took the key from him
and said why did you steal my
life away from me and he responded
in kind with a purple ax
to her face but then forgot that he killed
the wrong daughter so he
buried her with her scissors behind the
tool shed, out by the lake,
so everyone would find her body
and the ghost of Christmas past
lingered in the air
watching everything that went on while listening
to his favorite Phil Collins album you know
that one with that one
song, not that one the other
one and the old man was standing
next door reflecting in the
moonlight seeing everything hearing
everything and understanding nothing
as he was prone to do his
consciousness was a curse
as was his ignorance and his lack of
opposable thumbs stopped him
from visiting the discount mall
down the road to purchase
toothbrushes at rock bottom prices
and he knew it was all his neighbor's
fault that his lungs did not
exist and he couldn't taste
the sweet aroma of corn flakes in the
morning through the cold steely
chromy taste of red plastic
garden hoses and the checkerboard furnace
he was being
tortured in

Labels: defectivejunk, gateway to your death