Have you ever wanted to slice open your own throat?
I feel like that every night,
I even keep a cut-throat razor by the side of my bed.
Sometimes I just drift it across the light stubble on my neck,
It gives me goosebumps and tingles in my stomach.
It's a lovely razor, shiny, metallic, with a wooden handle that's painted red.
I bought it from an antique store in Bergamo.
Best purchase I've ever made.
When I look in a mirror I often see the open wound,
The blood dripping down, covering my chest.
It's like a fantasy.
So, are these the thoughts of an insane man?
Maybe, but I live a normal life.
Three kids, a dog and a wife.
Wake up, get a shower, eggs and coffee on the table.
Go to work at nine, back by five for lunch,
Shit once a day, pee twice,
Maybe three times if I've drank more than usual.
Enjoy a few in the pub every Sunday, making jokes about our spouses.
Like how Maria expects me to wear a condom AND stay hard,
I'm fifty three for fuck sake, with the athleticism of Homer Simpson.
So, why are these thoughts mine?
Well, these thoughts can be anyone's thoughts.
Happiness can be deceitful.