What I Did Before I Set You on Fire: A Morality Tale in Reverse
I watched you flinch. It
tasted like stale Fritos and cum.
I swallowed the laughter bubbling
into my throat like bile. I struck
a match. I aimed for your lips but
it fell onto your chest hair instead. I
tipped the bottle at an unlikely angle.
I uncorked the whiskey. I kissed you
until your lips turned into lightning
bolts. I tore off my mustache with a
badly timed flash of drama. I came
in through your bedroom window.
I left your girlfriend fellating security
guards in front of a jeering crowd.
I took her to the Museum of
Modern Art. I rented a tandem
bike and a bunch of wooden roses. I
glued a little fedora onto each
one. I bought a box of matches. I
disguised myself behind a black
mustache and a monocle. I
found out that love is
the lowest form
of arson.