Every day the rope around her neck draws itself into the ceiling a little more and makes her struggle to stay on the ground. She must know she will lose, she must know that soon the noose will close and she will gasp, choke and die. Why do these creatures fight so hard against the inevitable? Bend your knees and it ends in a minute, go en pointe and it lingers. If it were not for my toy's tenacity I would have so little fun.
You must login to vote
Playing stickball with the trunkless head, the children laugh at the squish it makes colliding with a rock. A preschooler finger-paints a picture of Mommy in the stranger's thickening blood.
Black men tearing the skin from their white oppressors to see what makes them better and being disappointed to find the answer is fuck all.
A manling, recently removed from his limbs, sits sullenly in the corner spitting bile at passers. They easily dodge his tithe amid their laughter. A young girl kicks him once to spin him to the wall and then again for giggles. Small worms crawl about in the open weeping sores of former arms.
Scalpels slice off lips, eyelids, cheeks and nostrils to feed the swine that pace the floors, slipping on the blood of their fodder.
Straight razor fuckings take place en masse in the dark of a cold world's love. Sweaty backs black with dirt match the minds of the rutting dead.
I am Monastic Vice
But would I be a good Messiah with my low self-esteem? / If I don't believe in myself would that be blasphemy? - The Bloodhound Gang Hell Yeah