A Box of Matches
I abhor you with
One thousand pieces of my mind.
One thousand shards of expired shrapnel
Would embed their talons in the
Deepest alleys of your celebrated dermis.
One thousand wolves with onyx jaws
Would demolish you, un-piecing your
Somatotype as it were a backwards jigsaw.
One thousand flasks of frenzied acids
Would drown you, drink you, dissolve your
Sociopathy and your bad sense of humour.