Mindful

Sometimes I think
I might be able to understand
the mind of a stalker
the co-dependent kind  at least
still hung up on an unhealthy addiction
with the misguided delusion
that given the right amount of time
or circumstance  
they’ll get their attention fix again
like every another addict
only their drug of choice
can talk and scream
and packs one hell of a punch
when backed into a corner
and sometimes
they have the prettiest words
you’ve ever heard
and you hate them more for their beauty

I’d be lying
if I said I’d never planned the perfect murder
concocted on the insides of a vodka bottle
I’d have my revenge and I’d do it in style
with blood and begging and maybe a pre-kill fuck
like a psychotic bad cliché

I had an ex that smacked a lover in the head
with a frying pan
we never got that dramatic
unless you count the time I punched a door
and used every clever profanity my rage could think of
words were always my best weapon
and sometimes I fear that it’ll be my words
that drive someone to suicide

Because the older I get the better I get
at honing my aim and shooting myself
as I’m laying waste to another’s soul

And I’ll never tell
of all the ways I’ve imagined your death
or how much I’ve always wanted to make you bleed
because some things are better left
to the imagination

© Indie Adams 2012