(S)He is…

a fuckin joke

a jobless alcoholic bum

to usurp the soul of

a FIRED, alcoholic, baker acted, ex physician

like he’s worthless.

take the sloppy seconds

sloppy *thirds **fourths

She is…

delusional just like him

Daddy was delusional for believing in you.

She is…

verifiably crazy… just like him

Daddy was crazy to forgive the blood you spilled.

I don’t want him and

i constantly push him away

(then pull him back in)

and he runs behind me like a lost puppy

desperate for your affection.

I don’t even have to fuck him

and he pays all my bills

and bows down to me bitch

(for the price of one fetid soul)

He is in love with me

I love you so, Daddy always said.

I don’t even have shit to do with him

except on the 1st and 15th.

2021

going to be my year

to lose everything but his roof

God is so good

(only to those with souls, I hear)

Still praying

This is fun, huh??

(S)He is a lost cause

after all you did to him.

He is easy to play

when you change the rules.

He falls for anything

after a few shots of vodka.

You might have some fun

ruining lives.

It’s fun it really is

if you have a screw loose.

All I have to do is feed him a few lines

and he is right back up my ass

until he dies

It’s fun why not

you can’t collect from a dead man

---

A/N: Shortly after my dad passed, most of his belongings were thrown out like trash, leaving my sister and me with only a handful of his personal items to divide between us. His oversized jackets still carrying his scent (a cologne I never thought to ask the name of), and his beloved fuzzy house slippers I used to tuck my too-small feet into—those irreplaceable items were lost to us. Luckily, my sister saved Dad’s computer before it could also turn up magically “soiled” and get trashed like all the rest of his things.

Dad’s computer was full of secrets; extortion attempts, questionable files, and photos we’d never seen before, to name a few. His iCloud had odd, terribly sad, and the most disturbing text messages saved. These things gave us a frightening new perspective on Dad’s life. But when I saw this vile text thread, my heart broke. The casual cruelty and nonchalance with which this person talks about my dad and the irony of her calling him a “jobless alcoholic bum” was too much to bear. I think I went crazy just reading it. When I started to “respond” to her texts, I felt a sense of relief.

This poem was my outlet for venting my frustration at someone who will never care about the people she’s hurt, and it’s numerous.

(For clarity, my “responses” are in bold and the sociopath’s texts are not. So, the only parts I wrote are in bold.)