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If she bewitches you and you fall, you'd fall until you hit the hard ground,until your skull fractures and splits wide open. Just for her to step on the remaining parts. In a dry, barren land, he watches her. A God-fearing, well-behaved young man. A goody two-shoes. A pathetic animal herder with dirt-streaked hands.
From his 1961 Cadillac, he watches her prowl the streets deliberately with ease. He already knows that she isn't hiding. She wants to be seen. His eyes wander to her brassiere, visible through the thin, sheer fabric of her little white dress. He plays with his hands nervously, he pinches his skin, he'd be on his knees tonight begging for forgiveness for his filthy thoughts.
The lust he always forced to swallow is coming back up from his throat. He bites the skin of his lips and scratches his arms until they bore raw, they leave red marks. His hands work furiously, roughing his skin until it was bloodied and pure red. He rubs his eyes and clutches the gold cross hanging from his neck.
His legs began to tremble, but he can't look away He didn't want to look away from the dark-haired, gravel-eyed monster with a tired feral stare.
A loudmouthed whore that plays an innocent lamb. His hunger swells, it was a gnawing, disgusting desire. He is a good son, he is a cheap slave. His blood streams down his arms as she locks her eyes on him.
