They say we’ve all got a little bit of psychopath in us.
Sometimes I daydream about your death.
I’ve seen you fall down the stairs and crack your skull multiple times.
I’ve seen you crushed by a bus, have a meteor fall onto you, seen the volts that tore through your body when you were electrocuted.
I’ve seen you die in so many ways. Each time giving me that little bit more joy than the last.
So every time you speak to me disrespectfully, every time you think that you hold some power over me; in my head you are slowly dying.
Your eyes look up to me pleading for help. But I just stand there, I stand there are your eyes grow larger and glaze over. I hear that last raspy pop of breathe and then it’s all over.
I’ve killed you so many times in my head, but never by my own hand. I’ve killed you over and over, again and again. I’ve watched you suffer and feel weak and defenceless.
So when you talk to me the way you do, who really holds the power?