The Bombmakers

A violent tale of "revenge"

The Bombmakers

Breakfast with broken glass and nails-
It doesn't matter - you know you won't make it to lunch.
Stand in the mirror and arrange your face-
Put on your lipstick and walk out the door.

I've been in this business a whole lot longer then you-
Eyes myopic from following wires: battery, timer, detonator, explosives-
I love how it all flows together, the order of it-
Pieces strung together with a common purpose...

I don't understand yours, though- you can't bottle your rage like that-
You have to let it out, as it comes-
A knife, hidden up a sleeve, drawn in private at the last moment-
Don't even stop as it goes in, twist and slide it out.

Much more efficient then your own self-destruction-
You don't believe me, I can see that much-
I'm just a blind fool- oblivious to anything that matters.
The fool on a hill, though, still sees further then the idiot in the valley.

You died a long time ago, though- and you're just now realizing it.
You died when you threw away your peculiarities-
You died when you became just like them, a clone-
Absorbing every single one of their idiosyncrasies and calling them yours.

I've wanted, for so long- to take my knife-
Slide it over a rifle, until it clicks-
Then thrust, straight through your chest-
Letting your body fall to the floor.

The rifle should stand straight up,a perfect grave marker-
I think I'll throw the hat you wore that summer on it-
A testament to who you were, then-
Buried with who you are now.

I won't have to destroy you, though-
You're doing a good enough job of that yourself-
I don't have to do anything, anything at all-
You're doing my work for me - all I have to do is watch.

I do wish you'd be more systematic about it, though-
Your figures don't add up, it doesn't... follow.
You spit out a column of numbers, hoping I'm too trusting or stupid to notice-
But I can add - I can see the cards you're about to play-

Do let me know how this ends-
For I don't plan on being around to see it.

Your plan isn't going to work-
Destroying yourself and everyone you know-
Everyone's going to live through this one- even you-
But you won't enjoy life alone - abandoned by those you tried to kill.

You can place your bet on fire-
But I've had enough of the furnaces of kings.
I want the aloe for my burns. No-
I'm betting on ice.

Author's Note

This poem has probably had the most thorough going-over of any poem I've ever written. I wrote it, originally, sometime in late April, but... wasn't happy with the way it came out, so I kinda "teasered" it in one of my descriptions. I 've been thinking about it, and how I wanted it to go, for awhile...

It's probably the only poem I've written... "in anger"... most of my stuff tends to have a sort of longing in it, but this is pretty much the only one where I've wanted to discontinue relations with someone.