i'm not sure when
the Jan Brady syndrome
turned cancerous in my brain
because i'm so far from her
and this other girl is so far from Marcia,
our roles should be reversed.
i guess this feeling comes
from always being second best,
the first loser,
on the back burner, whatever.
i decided that Brett Favre-ing
a football into her nose
just wouldn't suffice my urges
but grinding up 3 muscle relaxers
and a hand full of pain killers
and putting them in her lasagna
is a start.
because after her coma starts to set in
i'll take a pillow to her face
and slowly suffocate her
knowing she can't fight back.
and in the morning
when the police question me
i'll tell them the truth,
i was at Rooney's all night
playing Wii,
writing,
and eating lasgana.
and we're just fine.