Published July 25, 2022 by April Fox
I am a serial killer
collecting tokens
from the lives I've interrupted:
an anarchy symbol
a wedge of cheese
a passel of descendants
and when I lay out my confessions
a storm of platitudes
rains down like razorblades.
Against my will,
granted absolution.
From the back of my head
while I try to rest
the film plays on, a gag reel
I hear every misplaced word I've ever forced my lips to say
I see every time I made the choice
to do what wasn't right
And the guilt that ties me down
is a paradox of truths.

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