In The Home Of The Mountain Queen

I can see you

Ass parked on the sofa
Scarfing down Doritos
Computer in your lap
Chatting in that online sex forum
As usual

Squandering so much of your free time
In idle gossip
Posting photos of cats
Harassing newbies
Brazenly calling your friends,
Cunts
Pausing to lick your artificially cheesed digits

Time better spent practicing your cello
Becoming one with the music
Letting the vibrational energy flow
From your from delicate fingertips
Into those harmonious strings
Consciously savoring the music in sips
Rather than unconsciously gulping
Downloads from I-Tunes
Or slurping up You-Tube streams

You are so much more alive
When playing your instrument
Then this anonymous pseudo existence you perpetuate
Behind a fake name and poorly pixelated avatar
Feigning to be so many things you are not
Miss MountinQueen91

It saddens me
How you will never live up to your potential

And without my guidance
You would remain lost

You don't know who I am
Even though we've met once before
In that very same online forum
Where you referred to me as dickbag
And all your cunt mates lolled hard

You don't see me

Or hear me
As I exit the darkly lit hallway
Approaching rapidly from behind

Deftly conducting a razor knife across your throat
Orchestrating a left to right slashing motion
While pulling on your pretty blonde mane
Letting the arterial spray surge in spurts
Painting the canvass of your laptop's screen
Like a mad demon artist
A virtual Jackson Pollock of Molloch
Until your gurgling palette is emptied

Now, my dear Mountain Queen
Please, indulge me
Take my hand in yours
Put your other hand on my waist
Right there
Like so
And I will show you what it really feels like
To be
Alive

And you and I shall
Dance a dance
In elegant romance
Like the Vietnamese Waltz
Before the flickering hearth warming
These cold stone brick 'n' mortared vaults

Imagining your fingers
Beginning to sing
In keys of G
Strumming catgut string
Auditioning
A splendid solo renditioning of
In The Hall Of The Mountain King

If only you could witness
This new version of you
Unwrapped from the box
Taken down from the shelf
You would be asking,
Who are these strangers
Cutting up the rug
Jitterbugging in my home?

Unfortunately
Not so much for you
More so for me
Your footwork is pathetic
As poetic as my next stalker journal entry
And online challenge competition poem

When playing on the Internets
Perhaps you should
Think twice
Before calling someone you don't know
Dickbag

Next time ...
Be nice!