Torment

Sagmeister Van Gogh is a strange old man

Neither Heaven nor Hell is interested

They turned out their vacancy signs and so here he is

Old and alone

His joints creak and crack

It is an effort to stand

Let alone walk the 67 steps it takes to get his morning paper where it lands when the boy whips it from his bike

The gears in his brain turn more slowly,

Being gummed up by the dirt and grime he has come to recognize so well

In the people around him, their suggestions and cruel words of jealousy disguised as superiority

The gears still turn, just a bit more slowly

More calculation is needed

If I do this what will be the consequences?

When he was younger, he didn’t care so much

He lived

He lived and gave such little care of others and their troubles

He had no use for them

He had no use for anything other than what suited him and his intended lifestyle

Fuck the lot of ‘em!

His sins on the battlefield in THE BIG ONE were nothing compared to his sins

In the bedroom and the boardroom.

He had the notches from exploits with so many women and a few young men (boys?) from Thailand,

But that is another story…

He made women of all levels and ages leave feeling the burning pain of a virgin freshly plucked

He was proud of that

How many girls learned the ropes from him!

Oh yes!

He made them scream in pain and always a bit of delight

He caressed them, told them of his true love and delight in them

He spoke softly as he brought them to shuddering almost unbearable orgasms

They left licking their physical wounds from his knives

Pink and stainless steel

Whips, belts, and other instruments

They licked their emotional wounds later when they realized that he would never call them as he vowed

He moistened his lips as he remembered. 

He still had the pleasure of young women’s company, but now he found he must pay them

From the enormous fortune he collected

At the expense of foolish men that could not out think or out-wit him

He knew how to twist things and find loopholes when he needed to

He drank grand amounts of champagne

Made from the blood and tears of the less-fortunate

He enjoyed it too

Why shouldn’t he?

It wasn’t his fault that others were weak

He strokes his paid lover’s hair as he whispers what she must do to please him

Her eyes grow wide, but she knows how much she will make

She bends over for him and lets him see his handiwork when he is finished

A belt takes effort but a cane is easier to wield

Oh how he loves the screams and squeals

The welts

The blood

The permanent reminder he will leave them on their lily flesh

She leaves with her cash and an inability to sit for a few days

He is pleased with himself

He is alone though

He sleeps alone and has not one to love him in his old age

That suits him fine

He has no use for holidays, gifts, children, decorations

He is fed and has everything he wants

He is everything he wishes to be

Everyone feels sorry for the old man in the penthouse

Poor dear, all alone

Never married

He must miss love

The fact is, he doesn’t

He has never had a use for it

Well, not since he was a boy

And his mother and her numerous men

Beat it out of him

He was a man by the age of 8

Yelling, “Fuck them!”,

Was his favorite way of satisfying his empty heart

Fuck them

This particular day, Sagmeister perhaps reconsidered…

Nah

He sat at his huge dining room table after finishing his meal prepared by

His new cook…

Whatshername…

With the shapely ass

                                                                                                                        HEK

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