Time's a wastin'
As I sit in my car,
Waiting for them
To return from the bar.
My Vic & Tim.

My second hand
My metronome,
I count the steps
From car to home.
It's getting late.

They smile together,
The lovely couple.
Still Vic don't know,
Tim's mind’s a brothel.
He's mobbin' bitches.

Oh Timmy Tim Tim,
What will I do!?
Can't count on my hand,
All the bitches you screw.
I opened the car door.

They walked in smiling,
So unaware.
He smacked her ass,
Like it were a bitch standing there.
I gently shut my door.

They cross the threshold,
Long gone dress of white.
He pushes her through,
Instead of holding her tight.
I cross the street a few houses down.

A crash breaks the quiet,
Their slamming front door.
They're climbing their stairs,
While he's staring at whore.
At least their grass is cut.

Noises descend,
I probably should knock.
Then again, what's the point...?
I'm trying to block.
I hope they oiled the hinges.

I've been here before,
Though not to these noises.
Usually kids & the dog;
Always smelling of roses.
The steps don't creak either.

The lights to the bedroom,
Of course their all on.
Even though it's them only
And the kids are all gone.
Their door is cracked open.

I stand by the door,
Hearing sounds of faux love,
But I'm not bearing presents,
Nor throwing a dove.
I grip cold steel.

I'll count to one hundred,
Is this alright?
Should I handle it,
Or will time make her bright...?
The clip clicks into place.

Another minute to think,
As sweat coats my skin.
Four years now I've known,
His unfaithful sin.
I kick open the door.

Worse than imagined
Was the scream she let loose.
His face was classic,
My eyes were his gnoose.
I quietly lock the door.

Gun to eye level,
To the bridge of his nose,
"Now tell my good daughter,
'Bout the rest of your hoes."
I cock the hammer.

"What the hell are you doing?"
He chokes out in a panic.
"What the fuck do you mean?"
She wails like a manic.
Blood drips from the barrel.

"You've got one more chance,
Now tell my daughter,
About how you bought women,
And the roses I brought her!"
I lose my composure.

Again he denies it,
Too much love for himself,
So I pull out some photos,
I'd kept hid on my shelf.
Many women & him fall from my hands.

I look at my girl,
My only blood left,
And think of me taking
Her smile by theft.
Then I look at the photos again.

No sorrow is felt,
For feeling is rage,
Twenty plus women,
Staring back half my age.
Bang!

04/24/2011

Author's Note: Fictional. Not my usual style of writing, but it popped in to my head a year or two ago and I went with it.

Posted on 04/25/2011
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