Depraved

Please pardon me
just a little as I cackle.
I am a reprobate.
Not a big one.

On the cartesian plane
that graphs such things
my coordinates are only slightly
towards jackal -- ok, maybe
a little more towards
fiery demon from the bowels of hell.

I am callous, but it's ok
I don't care what you
think.

I'm bitter too, but not
tasting, just my attitude
astringent and cold.

Sometimes, to fuck with their heads,
I like to teach children to say
hippolatamus instead of hippopotamus.

Or, if they're really little,
tell them that purple is orange
over and over until they believe it.

There is something
so festive,
so joyous,
so sweet,
so gentle
about the destruction of innocence

and the memory of the last tear I cried
when you left.