You thought I’d forgotten you, right? Let you slip beneath the gently-lapping waves to be captured in my saline, vapid embrace forever more… ha,ha, ha, ha, ha. Joke’s on you, fool. And what a fool you are.
There couldn’t be a bigger fool. No such fool exists – apart from you: F. O. O. L.
If it wasn’t likely to fall off and sink beneath the murky depths, I’d shake my head right now. Tsk. Saw you coming they did, from a sand-infested, grainy mile away; those baggy-panted, white-faced ghouls had you in their sights from the get-go and didn’t you make just the best target?
Only you didn’t run, did you? Instead, you waded out into the soggy depths of doom, filling your boots with empty promises and sanguine smiles as you went. Still smiling though, that bloody stupid smile. God, how ridiculous you look. Grinning. Like a fool. Did I mention the eff word already?
Dear oh dear, oh dear. Taking candy from a baby would be easier – and less cruel.
Tell me, what makes someone so stupid? Is it the promise of crunchy kisses on your peach-like cheek or the insatiable attraction of the fairground; all whirling waltzers and fast, spinning cars – blissfully out of control; just like you on your way to your Helter Skelter Hell.
Swish, swish, swish.
Enjoy the ride, Compadre, but remember; everything stops somewhere.
It’s the end of the track for you, my friend – destination end game, no coming back from this one, ever – there ain’t no sequel. Just the rootin’, tootin’ screech of the horn and the loud, mucus-ridden cough of the iron heart as it chugs its way around the unbreakable bends, closer and closer to your sorry ass – life’s a Goddam bitch, ain’t it? And then you die…
All the fun of the fair. Right here. No need to thank me.
You see, this all could’ve all been so different, everything. Why didn’t you just stop for a second to figure it out? Taken a moment to follow those footprints in the sand, they would have led you where you wanted to go.
That safe spot where everyone goes back to.
There’s always a boardwalk under which someone finds their hiding place. Yours just happens to have blackened struts and rotting eaves – Welome to Wonderland.., my huckleberry friend.
It grates, doesn’t it? Hard.
Just like the tide.