i would like to kill you. fucking stomp on your head wearing leather boots with thick rubber heels that don't seem to lessen the impact my feet feel as i feel your skull giving way under the weight of my rage. i won't stop, even as it soon becomes clear that i have liquidified what was once concrete and speaking and blinking, your eyes nose lips teeth, that i once peered into and nearly kissed, reduced to a pulpy mess that sooner resembles jello than the chin, the sides of your face that i once framed with my hands.

i remember we were outside, on the streets at the time when the executives have managed to rush to their cubicles on time and the afternoon crowd is still at home drinking coffee and readin the paper and the streets are the barest they can get, the light would cast your face just so, and you were so beautiful the way you looked, lost, hollow,like the world, the whole world wouldn't be able to fill you up and that the only reason you were put here at all was to find the other empty shells and turn them back to dust.

i loved you then. i wish i did now.