Sadomasochist

Like drinking your morning coffee

At crisp-linened tables, sun spilling

Onto your crisp-written newspaper and

The chit-chat comfort of banter, banter, banter;

PICK UP THE BUTTER KNIFE AND JAM IT INTO YOUR OWN BACK HAND,

And banter, banter, sip more coffee

And casually blame your chat-mate across the table

While the blood runs down your forearm

Making the table a study in pointillism.

Like walking together down a trash-strewn

But full-of-character street

Shooting the breeze with promises of

Friendship past, future, present

With the sneakers counting a pleasant thud, thud, thud;

TURN AND SMASH YOUR OWN FACE AGAINST COLD BRICK,

And thud, thud, walk some more

And unassumingly question how your walking partner could do such a thing

While the blood runs down your unchanged face

Leaving a crimson breadcrumb trail.

Like sauntering up to a bar with your colleague

With familiar dim-lit lights, winsome

Talk about how thank God things are good again

And trust you, darling, never another reason not to trust you,

And mutually, with camaraderie, bitch, bitch, bitch;

SNATCH THE WINE GLASS AND SHOVE IT THROUGH YOUR CHEST,

And bitch...then run, run,

And hound your bitch -- I mean friend -- for hours as to how badly friend has hurt you

While friend is gaslit and abandoned and hanging off a rooftop

You sit in a double pool of blood.

Alone.