Something needs to give... whether it be my will or the relentless assault on these cursed emotions. I'm broken... the chewed toy buried in the backyard. Slowly digested by time and these acidic thoughts... the poisonous neglect of those claiming to care. I am alone. It's nothing new... in fact, I should have been hardened to this truth long ago. Yet, I believe those sweet words when uttered in my leprous ears... all the while knowing those eyes have become callous and filled with deceit. The venomous beauty... my sweetest torment. It only serves to fuel the already overwhelming hatred I feel for this pathetic mass called a man... I am neither a man, nor the moppet. I am the willing bitch... a whore to desired affections and the centerpiece of insecurity. I hate you... I fucking hate myself. I spend my time rocking in the womb, weeping for the things forgotten and running from those remembered... strangulation and humiliation, the comforts of this diseased edifice. I still yearn for those possibilities at night as I clutch my pillow... the echoing words of what was shared and desired. Though I now see the words for what they are, slivered glass embedded in a cancerous gullet... my heart aches for the veil to once again shroud the deception. How I long for it...fuck! The irony is thick, for now I take on the role of the fattened calf... to gurgle and spit, over and over as you thrust and penetrate my throat with your rusted, forked tongue. The daily ritual, of you, the unsatiated sadist... my captor and false prophet. Filed in line, behind the others... to claim the place as my muse and infection. Seeping through my skin and bubbling my blood black... the deepest cut upon my soul. It cannot heal... lest I refuse the candied scabs you offer me. Why? Fucking why? Is it so tasty... does curdled blood moisten that cunt you call a heart? I suffer your words and the lack thereof. Why do I cry? Why the solemn and wounded expression on my face? Because I've return to where I was once before... before the time of hope and desire. A time of misery and despair, torment and sorrow... just as you found, only this time, broken beyond mending. I understand now, Layne, those words of fighting all alone... more so than I did before. Praying for safe passage, as the shroud of companionship rots. Richard insists that the only comfort and love that will ever reach this heart, is the sultry drip of a needle buried in my arm... the thickened saliva and sweaty teeth of the dirt filling my chest and powdering my nose. The brick that bathes my gullet... warm whiskey and soiled cotton. The boot offers an erection... the salty, metallic taste escorting my orgasm. I need the release. I need the numbing nod. I need the escape. I need the end...
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