Found poem, tweaked, adapted from George Saunders' wonderful story, Adams.

That night, sleep better
but wake in a sweat.
Ask yourself: What would you do
if someone came in,
and shoved down your wife,
and one of your kids;
if they stole your guns and knives,
your blade sharpener,
your paperweight.

Answer yourself.
Frenzied, you'd look for
something else dangerous
for paint, for thinner,
household chemicals.
You would ring the house of your enemy
with toxics; set them on fire.
You would pour them in their pool to
A. Rot the liner and
B. Sicken their children, swimming.

Get out of bed.
Lean on the door-jamb
in your pajamas,
thinking of Adams
standing there in his underwear,
your kitchen.

Look in on your kids sleeping,
and, Oh my God,
nowhere are there kids
as sweet as your kids.
Imagine them as they choke and vomit,
struggling out of the pool.

no way.
You are not living like this.
love dead like a crushed fly

for those of you who said you'd be interested in hearing my lyrics put to music- I started work on recording an album, if you get in touch with me pm or otherwise I'd be more than happy to fill you in
interesting, if not as emotionally affecting as usual. saying someone is beyond critique is usually laziness on the reader's part, but i've always found it hard to find flaws in your work. i'm very glad you're posting again though.