Our Saviour

Blood drips slowly from his gnarled white hands

He wonders where he has been and

who is dead when he arrives back home

that wasn’t when he left

He sits in his chair

Alternately laughing and crying

Bereft at the life he has taken

Thrilled at committing the act

He falls asleep

Images flash through his mind

Both wonderful and horrifying

Sick and twisted deeds of a man forgotten yet remembered

He wakes up smiling

Puts on the kettle, whistles a happy tune

And wonders what he shall do today

To make the world a better place