She cut me deep,
She always had a way with the hooks she had in me,
As she twisted the knife, the pain grew more intense,
The burning reached white-hot intensity,
Nails, pounding deep in my skin,
Steel pipes driven into every pore,
Blood turned black with each push, each tug sending its own river of blood,
The bones broke slowly, grinding, and twisting, and finally splintering,
Clots forming in their absence,
The clay-hard lumps forming with each creak and groan of the bones snapping,
Muscles straining in the emptiness of the space bones filled,
The concrete aching and stretching,
Finally tearing,
Separating like paper,
Bone fragments splitting through the tissue,
Severing the connective essences,
And finally rendering the body to a pile of fibrous muscular cloth,
Covering hardened structural bones.
YOU ARE READING
Some Things Never Change: A Book Dedicated to Absolutely Nothing At All
عشوائيA book dedicated to thoughts, poems, stories, questions, answers, recipes. All sorts of fuckery happening up in here. Also, ignore my very ambiguous and sarcastic title. I do have a very cynical and often bitter sense of humor. Anyways, there are st...
