Their screams are knives inside of the throat and the air is cut up in alternative dimensions of denial as we throw up the stale crusted blood that is swollen in our scar clotted veins leading us to the heart and the mind leading to what the hell happened to us.
flex your fingers, you're going to kill someone and that makes you interesting.
flex your fingers, you're having sex and that makes you, my dear, a SLUT!! so be prepared for the fingers not trying to find your g-spot but your general direction and dramatized whispers will follow you like a shadow because if they don't have love, if they don't have sex, no one will.
They have that and serial killers have that.
hey kids we can talk about how to kill someone? but fucking someone? OUT OF THE QUESTION, YOU'RE OUT OF LINE.
It's just a dead body! People die ALL THE TIME! JUST LIKE PEOPLE HAVE SEX ALL THE TIME, LIKE PEOPLE HAVE VARIOUS COLORS OF SKIN, EYES AND HAIR ALL THE TIME AND VARIOUS SEXUALITIES, BODY TYPES AND WANTING A DIFFERENT BODY TYPE OR A DIFFERENT GENDER ALL TOGETHER ALL THE TIME, REALITY IS NOT SOMETHING THAT NEEDS TO BE CUT UP THEN PRESSED TO THE THROAT WHEN QUESTIONED.
You are expecting a flower to flourish without giving it water, sun and soil, you are smothering your children to death with a goddamn pillow of your self righteousness.
