I Want to Beat You to Death

I want to beat you to death with a blunt object.

I want to grab one of those high-end fashion

mannequins by the ankles and bash your rib cage in.

I want to sharpen fifty pencils, bind them with a

rubber band, stick the lead ends in your mouth, and

punch the erasers.

I want to strap you to a bed of nails and then strap

that bed of nails to the hood of my car so I can

watch you suffer as we drive over speed bumps in a

mall parking lot during an earthquake.

I want to burn your dog in front of you, mix his

ashes with gunpowder, melt his bone-shaped name

tag into a small metal ball, load it all into a musket,

and shoot you in the face with him.

I want you to somehow survive a terrible car crash

and then somehow not survive a small fender

bender on the way back from the hospital.