I wrote this many years ago, late at night and fueled by mania. Reading it again, I think it retains a certain amount of charm. Disclaimer: none of the things in this poem are true in any sense of the word. Also, the poem is a bit dark and might be disturbing; consider yourself warned.
The night that Max wore his wolf suit
and made mischief of one sort
and another
his mother called him 'wild thing'
and Max said 'I'll kill you, and desecrate your corpse, removing your fingers
and frying them in a pan, and wear
your dresses, and burn your photos,
and
pull out your heart and leave it rotting,
hung from the ceiling such that you can see it
as you walk up
the long road
that brings you from town to our house, our very quiet house, our
very
secretive
house
and the secrets you made me keep will never be kept any longer oh mother of mine what fun shall I have
and all without you any longer
because you see
I don't need you
and I never needed you
and I owe you nothing
and I hate you
and I wish oh how I wish that time would stand still
for you
for you
for you
for you
and most especially for me
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