I don’t believe in monsters I don’t

lo, a confession:

 

at night, when it’s still and safe

the corners of my lips tighten and I salivate,

fantasizing of gripping his last breaths in my aging young fist

of the last brick handed blows he lands before my knee divots his broad swastika’d chest

of digging uncommon soft neck skin deep under long chewed fingernails

of his lurid shudder shake kick when he finally (comically) fails to accept this.

 

Dedicated to {redacted}. I will meet you again some sunny day

meaculpameaculpameamaximaculpa