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I grabbed my steel machete and chopped off her head.
She is dead now, she is dead now, she is cement dead.
My first husband slept through it, I can hear him snore.
I got my boss, I can get you too, I say, my imagination full of gore.

My hazel eyes pop open and I realize I have done it again.
I kill my boss nightly, in my dream world, surely this is a sin.
But she deserves it, I think. My latest review was mean.
She is haughty and stuck up, fancies herself a queen.

During the day at work I pretend I like this arrogant woman a lot.
I fawn and grovel, pretending she is not Kansas City's biggest snot.
Today she was talking college words way above my head again.
I visualized myself cutting her measly throat, surely this is a sin.

Are you with me? She haughtily asked as she graphed.
I saw the ornamental sword on the wall and I laughed.
Seeing her head rolling around on the floor helped me a lot.
I cannot wait to see what I do in my dream tonight to the snot.

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