Saturday Morning

Right after waking up even before breakfast he yells at her trying to be intimidating calling her a stupid piece of shit. A worthless imbecile of a female ~ and she roars back with the spirit of a lion until the bedroom windows rattle with terror and slam shut. Until spittle flies out of her mouth and her fangs tell you “I’m gonna kill that smirk off your fucking face you smug son-of-a-bitch.”

 And they look at each other like ~ why do I love you?

Ugly ass hateful people.

They should both be locked up alone in a room one last time and allowed to kill their goddamn selves.

 She used to tolerate him once in a while. Once they say, she even loved him.

Ire doesn’t come around too often

but when it does  .  .  .

’96 – ‘97

Victor Millan