The Nobody.

The Nobody

By P.S. Gifford

Who he was- nobody ever cared.
How he spent his time-nobody was concerned.
He simply skulked about town unobserved.
Never would anyone even give him the time of day.
Not even the slightest nod of acknowledgement.
I suppose he simply got bored,
I suppose he sought excitement,
I suppose he longed for revenge…
Revenge on all those who ignored him,
and treated him as if he did not even exist.
And whilst he lovingly slit that first throat,
with that razor he kept in his worn out shoe,
he mockingly laughed out loud.
As someone had finally noticed him…
And as he observed the blood drain slowly from his victim,
And watched elated as they stared back helpless at him,
begging him for mercy-
He finally felt, for the very first time, alive…