A convenient scapegoat. |
Yes, significant other, I know you wanted that birthday present more than anything, and please know that I intended to buy it, but the one-armed bandit held me up--it did. Oh my love, it did indeed, just as a highwayman loots the weary traveler, just as the thief filches even the hope of the indigent, just as the buzzards peck bits of flesh from the dying. Ah, the effrontery of said rouge to sin so, to drain me of coin until I nearly begged for mercy, until I was shivering and hungry, until I was without shoes--a broken man, red-faced and nonplussed for having emptied pockets, at having turned myself inside-out until my heart warmed cool air, and my veins throbbed amid the glitter of necklaces, diamond rings, and Rolexes. Your desire is my desire. Still, I am addiction’s prey, a ransacked waif pleading for an all-points-bulletin for a bandit missing an arm, a soulless con making fragments of the up and up, like me (such a good-hearted sap), someone who only longed to beacon his significant other with her ultimate gift on her birthday. There is no honor, my love, in such fast and unfelt purloining, and no virtue in the slicing of a human being by the scythe of greed. Pity me, my love, as I bleed both red and tears due to this misappropriation of right, by this fallen extortion imposed by some hard and freakish privateer. The sin of silver, and gold was watching. 33 Lines Writer’s Cramp Winner 2-15-16 |