AN ACT OF MURDER

I have committed an act of murder.

My Super-Ego had become

overbearing

and abusive

so I killed him.

I had to.

It was an act of self-defence

but

it was murder.

I killed him with a

rubber

jeweller's hammer

It took a long time.

A very long time.

At one point during the murder,

we both got bored.

But after hours

of steady

rhythmic

blows

he finally gave in

his final death rattle

clamouring

from the shale of his throat,

a cloud of

volcanic ash

Slick and

covered in viscera,

the makeshift placenta

of my rebirth,

I manage a smile.

I am free.

My Super-Ego is dead.

I buried him behind the shed

where I keep 'Intro to Calculus'

and inappropriate schoolyard touches

It's just me and the Id now.

For someone afraid of heights

and prone to motion sickness,

life as a rollercoaster has been

an adjustment.

I am delirious with joy

and vertigo,

waving a victory flag

and an airsick bag.

I'm sure that I speak for us both,

me and the Id,

when I say it's as good

as he said

it would be.

As we brace ourselves for the next descent,

the spiral and the corkscrew,

he grips my right hand

tightly with his left.

In his other hand

he holds

a sticky

rubber

jeweller's hammer.

And he smiles.