Sparkatale

I, a nameless man, have nothing good for me.
I’m so emo, wearing make-up under my turban.
Wishing my life would be better.

I was recruited to be a bomber,
I’ll make others’ lives better work with my sacrifice
I’m too emo to live, it’s unmanly to be emo.
Why aren’t I born a woman?

I’m getting a close up of myself;
this will be my martyr video.
I can’t wait to put this on my Facebook and Youtube.

The bombs are ready and duck-taped to my chest and back.
I shave up and wash up before marching to my own funeral
in my 500 dollar suit and tie.

I, now, get on a bus full of Jews.
Sitting in a seat in the middle
next to the angel of death
reading “Life” magazine.
I pull the string triggering the…

(Boom)

Ugh, they packed the wrong bomb;
the bus smells like mold and day-old #2
The riders covering their noses
trying to open the windows.

The angel finishes the job as he rips a powerful one;
the vehicle turns into a gas tank in its own right
from beans and lentils.