Timothy Lawton

7/9/1997

There is murder in my heart, but it’s not a sin
Not because I have some sick justification for my mad impulse
Not because some delusion has driven my mind beyond reason
But, rather, because what I want to kill deserves to die
Deserves to wither in an ignominious decay
Deserves to be destroyed with all the fury with which some pestilential beast should be annihilated
Have you ever noticed how much of the world is vile?
How much of the world needs to be detested in the most vigorous manner
With a heart of pure hatred, despairing no place to harbor some distant pity
For you see there is still much left of the beauty that has been spawned by the hand of our creator
Yet, this is just why I have murder in my heart
For that which I wish to kill wants to savor the blood of that beauty
Savor that blood as prey in its’ carnivorous mouth
If it was only for that one brief moment that I was driven in a fit of passion to turn and slay this wretched beast, I would say that I wanted to kill it
But, no, rather I would say for years I’ve been planning this act
Plotting this design
I have sat seething, pondering how I will ambush my victim
How I will tear at his flesh and slice to his bones
How the warmth of its’ blood will roll over my fingers and I will smile in triumphant victory at the moment his heart ceases to beat and the last vestige of life crawls out of his breast in a sputtering wind and he is no more
No, I must use the term murder
Murder in the first degree
Premeditated as no crime has ever been before
Long in detail, brutal in action, painful in its’ honesty, like some Russian novel
For this beast hovers in the air
Its’ face is in the rocks and on the grass
His smell is in the ocean and he can be seen in every tree, animal, man, woman, and child
He lingers outside the bar and on the city street corner
He works on Wall St. and collects welfare checks in his project apartment
He is the mother that kills her infant child
He is the chemical plant along the Great Lakes shore
He is the priest that fancies altar boys and the rapist who lurks in a dark alley waiting for the image of his dominating mother to pass by
This beast laughs when the clouds that were threatening rain shatter into a blue sky over the drought parched land
He laughs when bitterness and anger flow from every pen and tremble in the guitarists’ hand
He tells stories about heroes that warm the heart and give patriots tears
He ruins the rain when puddles flow with rainbow streaks of oil and gas
He leaves a dirty film of soot that covers the world in his putrid grin
Yes, I have murder in my heart murder in the depth of my soul
Murder when he seeks to confuse murder when he gives us choices to choose
Do I want a cigarette or a beer?
Will I have sex with my wife or some transvestite queer?
Will I buy milk or a lottery ticket?
Can I have a big screen T.V. and a ten car garage?
Or, should I just buy the best and use my credit card to pay the rest?
Some other day
Should I stay straight or shoot up my veins go on methadone or take valume for the pain?
That fills my waking moments
I feel murder in my heart but it’s not a sin
Because I want to kill myself because I’ve let him in
I’ve let him give me hopes and dreams
Asked him to fulfill my wants and satiate my needs
I’ve let him fill my mind with conceit
I’ve begged him to give me a chance to be me
Me, when I want to be enraptured in the flesh of a well proportioned woman
Me, when I want coffee, butts, and bones in compulsive potions
Me, when I want to smash the face of every bastard who’s ever pissed me off
Me, when I want to taste good food, or see a new mountain, or another ocean
Me, when I hope to acquire the means, use, and memory of every desire that I’ve ever had
Yes, I have murder in my heart
And if I want to kill the beast it’s no sin
For it was with me that I was forced to start