"...To You"

I dropkicked a Pinata today.
I did not apologize; I did not mend his wounds.
I let him lay in pieces on the soft, green thorns.

It started as a lynching.
But the event turned sour as his blood smelled sweeter.
I was the Berserker the Army sent to end him.
I let the rod in my hand beat him until the noose snapped free.

He laid on the asphalt,
His clown eyes met mine,
And his clown mouth would not stop smiling at me.

The Army grabbed the prisoner to protect him.
"We must keep in good sport," they told me.
But I did not listen.

The Pinata Must Bleed.

I poked and prodded the Pinata,
Each strike driving deeper into his flesh,
But he would not bleed.

I threw the creature to the ground.
His blood was now starting to show it's true colors.
The Army could smell it's sweetness,
And they wanted it.

They brought him to me and cheered,
begging me to finish preparing their meal.
I held the Pinata in my hands,
And even though his arm was missing and he could no longer walk,
His head hanging by a flap of cardboard skin,
He would not stop smiling at me.

I dropkicked the Pinata.
I did not apologize; I did not mend his wounds.
I let him lay in pieces on the soft, green thorns.

The Army applauded and smiled, gorging on the innards of the prey.
As the blood of the slaughtered ran down their chin,
They erupted in a resounding anthem, but i only heard two words...

"Happy Birthday..."