13800
There she is so beautiful; I wonder where she’s from,
her makeup’s light but obvious; her brunette hair’s a bun,
she smiles in my direction as she saunters by my desk,
with skin so clear it’s seemingly undaunted by life’s stress.
I fight but cannot help it as my brain begins to drift,
my left hand trembles slightly as the plain begins to shift,
the office morphs into a dim lit bedroom; can’t disguise,
imagination spat to life as I then fantasize,
me taking her within my arms and staring in her eyes,
I’m just a tad unbalanced if you’re caring to surmise,
the normal way of daydreaming is not a pal to me,
for things I see within my head become reality.
Her fingertips caress my cheek and tenderly regard,
tumescent spirits entering and rendering me hard,
but she’s too ravishing for dirty thoughts so picture this,
a reverie so intimate I simply kiss her lips…
AAAAHHHH!
A piercing scream sounds off that interrupts my inner will,
the object of my vision’s now atop the windowsill,
there’re twelve stories beneath her; please don’t let her take a flop,
her nose is dripping blood as she yells out “Please make him stop!”
I try to shake the image of us kissing from my head,
which only serves to strengthen that she’s missing from my bed,
my co-workers are shouting at her rightly to get off,
she pauses on the ledge before she quietly steps off.
7 hours later…
Her name was Alice Rainey; rather plain if nothing else,
and folks could only speculate why she would jump to death,
the popular opinion is a boyfriend had her vexed,
but that’s not on the money and the truth could cash a check.
I’ve had to train my thinking not to wander off and right,
‘cause what I fantasize about is often brought to life,
the people of my fantasies endure a spill in health,
a journey through my mind brings forth the urge to kill themselves.
What’s sad is that most times these thoughts are not involving sex,
they found my mom; a self-inflicted slice across her neck,
my father left his car engaged inside a closed garage,
inert behind the wheel; what I can do has no regard,
for family or strangers; every day I truly dread,
condemning some poor soul to be among the newly dead,
it’s best not to allow my wayward thoughts to linger long,
or else there’ll be a home-going where all would sing along.
I lie in bed and know that there’s no way to make it stop,
it’s troubled me for all my life; ain’t like my brain can stop,
unless I kill myself and I’m not in a place to fold,
myself like spotless laundry; please Creator, save my soul.
The next day…
The atmosphere at work is dark and drab like thundered skies,
a gloomy ambiance that’s commonplace when someone dies,
and everybody witnesses the moment it occurs,
I look back and confess a premonition in these words,
I speak; the cost is deep and it’s for those most often weak,
my supervisor calls me in his office for a seat,
the guy’s a special kind of @sshole let the truth be told,
a person who a conduit for folks to lose control.
He goes in on me instantly; you know this kind of cat,
who talks without the thought of repercussions flying back,
and dropping on his head like bird sh!t falling from the sky,
I let him run his mouth while staring all up in his eyes.
“Your drive is mediocrity at best!” He spits with ease,
I see him as a power tripping fool who spits disease,
and gets off on the fear of those intimidated by,
his status as a boss and it’s what gets him hated by,
the office as a whole; he oftentimes just leaves me bee,
but now I see the need to aggravate me eagerly,
I wish I had the type of wherewithal to turn away,
however dude has p1ssed me off so he gon’ learn today.
The verbal blitz continues on and one can only try,
to not accrue assaulting charges so I close my eyes,
and think about my supervisor in a f*cking store,
inspecting different articles of clothes and nothing more.
I fantasize his eyes and fingers scrutinizing tags,
and wonder who’ll be crying when they eulogize his @ss,
I focus harder than I’ve ever tried to do before,
that’s when I look and see his body sliding to the floor.
He loops his necktie ‘round the desk drawer handle like a noose,
descending even further as it fastens like a group,
of buttons while the tight constriction slowly steals his breath,
I yell from out the doorway “Mike is trying to kill himself!”
Of course by then it’s much too late for people to assist,
his body must’ve loosened for the smell of fecal-ness,
invades the open nose of anyone who’s standing by,
to see the landing flies expand the mind to fantasize.
©2018
