BAD LOVE: ANGELS OF DEATH

I was sitting in the backseat of the car...when I realized I've given up.   Parked in the back streets of a motel parking lot. So sick of the taste of blood I'm going to write you this letter.  It will make everything better.   Screaming obscenities on the phone to your mom.  She says you are not home right now.  

I must confess my actions to you in this letter. 

I bought a tuxedo and a gun.  If I am guilty of anything, it's loving you too much. 


Sometimes, Love becomes rough.  This is not Bad Love.  I do not think I will ever be free of this pain.  I will not ask for mercy.  My spirit is alone and my soul is now dirty. 

I killed many people and bathe in their blood.  I killed all your enemies for you.  Each and everyone who ever screwed you over.  They were dealt  pain and death.  I do not expect you to understand.  

Now I am checking out in this rental car.  I have taken pills and alcohol to soften the pain.  I hope that it only takes one bullet to end this misery.

Off in the distance two figures are closing in...

I look out the window and see a dark figure wearing a mask and a hood.  Next to him is something that looks like a half man/half goat creature. Am I hallucinating?   

Are these creatures my Angels of Death that are coming to take me away?

Goatboy smashes the window and pulls out the longhaired human out of the vehicle and starts tearing his body apart.  Mr. Tiddles stands there screaming all humans must perish.

Before going unconscious, I believe...Yes, they are my Angels of Death.   

You can be a king or a street sweeper, but everyone dances with the Grim Reaper.
Executed in California's gas chamber.
~~ Robert Alton Harris, d. April 21, 1992