Dear Steele: If your best friend stole a lot of money from you would you forgive him? If you did, would you absolve him of his responsibility? Can compassion exist when you demand accountability? Can forgiveness exist where hatred still festers?
I could light a fire right now. Pour a circle of kerosene around his feet and knock that cigarette bud out his mouth. My adrenalin: p-pump, p-pump, p-pump, p-pump, p-pump, p-pump. With each amplified heartbeat, the muscle leaps out my chest and returns to its cavity in double time.
You piece of shit I could fucking kill you right now. Hide away. Be careful not to surface when my anger boils up and ruptures on your skin. I’ll ensure open wounds are left on every fleshy surface of your body. Restore the order. Return what was stolen and perhaps I won’t cut off your left testicle and fry it for dinner: feed it to your mother so she may taste the grandchildren she’ll never know.
That blackbird sitting on the garbage means the death of you. She’s going to pick out your eyes and feast on your tongue while you rot away. The mongrels will laugh when they pass you lying on the street thinking what a pitiful piece of road kill.
You are the worse piece of shit I’ve ever known. Worse than the shit I stepped on yesterday while I hung my clothes out to dry. It seeped over the rime of my slippers and got in between my toes. You stink up my life worse than rotten potatoes.
I’ll be back next month for the right testicle if you don’t pay up. If you really push me I’ll slice your penis like peppered salami steak and feed it to a eunuch.