Impure Thoughts

I met a maniac today.

He tricked me into his flat
then made me a cup of tea
and I wondered if he'd kill me
as he offered me a biscuit.

I say I was tricked
but it was an invitation really.
He said, come and have a look at my flat
And I said okay.
But that's how murders go in the 21st Century,
quiet and polite.

If he pulled out a machete
I'd wait till it was too late
to run away.
Rather lose my jugular
than cause him offence.

I'd lie on the floor afterwards
blood trickling out,
thinking,
God, I hope I don't do a shit.

I'd be clinging on to life
just so I wouldn't crap myself.
That would be my reason d'etre.

And as the life left me
with a warm stool in my pants
I'd think
Bollocks.
I hope no one finds me,
like this.

The maniac showed me crucifixes
lined up on a wall
and I took a step towards the door
afraid of his delusion.
I collect those, he said
spitting on my forehead.

He lifted one up high and I thought
Oh fuck he's gonna ram that down my throat
he's gonna force it up my jacksie.
Jesus' bearded head
will peer out of my arse.
But I stayed where I was
smiling politely,
counting down the seconds
til I could leave
without looking rude.

Don't you want your tea?
He said and I shook my head.
I'm sick,
I told him, imagining our saviour
up to his neck in it.

You can take some crumble home
if you like, he said
and I felt like having a cry
because my mind was so broken.