In those quiet tender moments

With your first cup of coffee in hand

Are you a monster then?

Are those horrid

Insatiable

Violent

Maniacle thoughts racing through your head?

Because sometimes I wonder

How could live with themselves?

How could they think any other thought

When they already know their hands will be red by nightfall?

Before the day has even begun

They are already in need of confession.

Throughout your morning

Perhaps as you refill the coffee pot

Or turn your key in the ignition

Do you ever change your mind?

If only for a moment

Do you think that perhaps

Torn bodies and dismembered minds is not the answer?

I suppose not

Because before your lips even touch the cup

Your hands have already left a pair of blood red prints on the ceramic handle.