MY FAKE MEMORIES WITH SPITE
As if I wasn't the best that emerged in those dry lands that begged for rain but received only filthy blood...
I was a foreigner in my town and later in my own mind, dodging the obtuse company of overbearing parentes, colleagues and friends.
I eradicated each one of the prejudices that intended to contaminate me on the streets of a city infected by the arrogance that ignorance hides.
So, goodbye Peter, stay there with your messerschmitt model aircraft collection, your exaggerated care with the miniatures exudes the smell of your rotten and nazi heart.
I will forget you Lucia, and hope you meet a hideous man in the bingo hall, blind to the pallor of your plump thighs that vulgarly invited my adolescent eyes, while with the head said no.
The cakes weren't good, Madalene, the oranges were sour, uncle Gerald, no interesting books in Esmeralda's bookshop.
Mom don't take flowers to dad, his grotesque soul hated nature and if he saw a cat in the garden it was me who needed to bury the poor thing.
I will never see your disgusting and pimply face again Matilde, make good use of the rock records you stole from me.
To the bar where I left my dollars and the gym where I was embarrassed for exercising my brain more than my muscles, I just hope they burn out on a summer night.
Goodbye everyone, I intend to get to hell sooner and prepare a warm welcome for you all, unless my father himself made a deal with the devil before.
Copyright © Marco Chies | Year Posted 2022
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