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To Katy Bertrand's previous piece

I Scream Sundae

I want to wound you deeply.

I want you to experience
the full impact of my
hatred for you.
Your face to contort
with pain and agony,
to scrunch up like a
tight fist ready to strike.

So I grab the sharp,
shining-like-the-crazed-
gleam-in-my-eye, stainless
steel blade
and draw it across
imperfect
pink flushed flesh.

"Now, they'll be sorry,"
I gasp with my final breath,
as I lay on the hard ground,
surrounded,
covered,
by little trails of blood,
like Hershey's chocolate sauce
on human flavored ice cream
with sprinkles of regret
and realization.

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