Death to all Seagulls

Forgive my laughter,
Or don’t if you deem it more appropriate.
I am not you,
Which I assume makes you glad,
And a little relieved.
Lo, there sits a seagull,
A bird, precious animal says you,
But here, you see,
Is where you aren’t me.
Where you see a life I am deprived,
Of such self-justified naivety.
I’d crush that disease-ridden cretin under my heel,
Without as much as a single blink.
Call me cold, heartless, if you like,
The truth is what it is.
But if you throw that stone at me,
Don’t act so surprised,
When you’re buried under the landslide,
Your own actions justified.
I might be brutal where seagulls are concerend,
I fucking hate the the birds,
But I own that flaw.
I will not pose as some kind of saint,
But I will look after the people I care for.
A saviour complex has ways been,
Your thing,
Little saint.


About Fredrik Kayser

Everything is connected.
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2 Responses to Death to all Seagulls

  1. Fredrik Kayser says:

    Thank you! I was aiming for a sharp feeling with a bit of a punch behind it. I’m glad you like it, and thanks again for the follow.

  2. This poem has such a vital force … it moved me and, in some ways, frightened me. I like it, Fredrik. I’m following your blog now !

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