Happy Hour and Homicide

I am garbage, dirty trash, a sexy piece of filth.
I hate those stories where they talk about fondly where they came from
What does it matter? You are where you are now, get over the past
Your fairy godmother committed suicide a long time ago chick
who gives a fuck if you grew up in a hovel made out of mommy’s condoms
daddy’s tears and the bones of your child abusing grandmother
cry me a river if your best friend died of cancer in a dugout at the age of three
It is over, you are still alive aren’t you?
Yes, you may be choking on things you wish were something else like candy!
Or living with a man who is fucking your best friend
perhaps you are just plain boring and fun for you is drinking wine before bed
Who cares?
All I know is what I am now
That is a fucking waste of human flesh.
At least I look good being a pile of trash, my cheekbones are sexy thin
my legs are tan and long, my hair perfect, my lips full
I hate myself though, I shouldn’t I should be happy
I have a great life, I drive a nice car my boyfriend wants to marry me
though he doesn’t know the real me.

I kill people, I kill all sorts of people. I like it
though I know it is wrong, it makes me happy
I have been killing people ever since I was twenty four
so far, in the last six years I have probably killed over four hundred
No one would ever think I would be capable of killing people
sometimes when it is over and I am smoking a cigarette
drenched in blood, I have pangs of guilt but they pass quickly
I came to terms that I was probably and most likely a sociopath
when I had killed two hundred and twenty six people
a sexually deviant trashy whore that likes to stab people
after the third date
the men seemed shocked, of course wouldn’t you
with a eight inch blade sticking out of your gut?
the lights go out quickly, i like to stare at them as they fade
goodbye, sleep tight
you should have been more careful now
I have killed men, women and frat boys
I never kill children under the age of sixteen
though once those brats turn sixteen, if they pinch my nerves the wrong way
I might if it is a good day end up beckoning them into the dark with my sexually appeasing body
or drugs, any kind of drugs
crack cocaine, or just cocaine, pills lsd, mushrooms, tweak, heroin
do some lines shoot some kids…

On the news they go missing, their dads, their moms, both parents
the high school prom queen, the blue eyed jockstar
the nanny.
They usually all plead with me, here take my wallet
what are you fucking crazy?
I laugh, mutter something about communists
stabbed away, sliced some
made a couple strands of earrings, sold the earrings to some street kids
told the street kids, it was voodoo magic
they gave me more drugs to entice the lonely goth kids
there went my summer of 97

I work at a fashion magazine, the fancy one you know where
Nicole Kidman does lines in the bathroom?
She is really nice
I can’t imagine killing her, though I have thought about it
from time to time
My job is simple hire and fire
you are out of luck?
let’s fuck!
here is my number call me
they call me, most end up dead

the public gets outraged, what is happening to our city?
they never look once at me, why would they?
My public persona
is the beautiful well put together lovely young woman
with a heart of gold, loves cats, drinks chai
is into fashion, loves twilight and goes out with her girls every Friday
They see Sex in The City, high heels in purple, loves Tim Mcgraw
only shops at Sak’s and never wears white after labor day
What they don’t see
is a murdering villain bitch who slaughters mostly everyone she meets
a sexual deviant sociopath who kills innocent people
I really like killing people, I like holding them while they bleed out
sometimes I can’t help it but to molest them
maybe if I work my fingers right
I can help the poor dying college student have one more moment of bliss

I know it is fucking twisted, I know I am garbage, twisted trash
that deserves death but I can’t be stopped
I won’t stop