The Bat
flourescent death
these lights kill
i sit here cold sterile
light blue glow surrounding those eyes
red and deep those cruel lies
there was no need to wait
it broke almost instantly
the pain of realization kept me from dreaming
i knew there was you
but where was i?
i knew there was something there
a spirit slowly dancing 'round
hiscold black hands grip the cloth
dark blue
velvetine and silky.
he chants and screams
worse than any dreams
night mares.
mares
running
galloping along the cliff dancing eternally foul
there was pain in the heels and blood flew across the toes
why do you insist on lying to me?
your lies like butterflies floating gold
black
silver
i don't need them to please me
i have you
just you but nothing more
why do you think i need this?
sex was like a poison
why?
it was supposed to be so sweet.
all it brought was pain, deceit.
stupid fucking whore bitch slut cunt running painful...
why do you do this to me? its like living through a glass
ether
yes thats what you want don't you?
sleeping drowsily through the day
doing the work making the rounds
pain alive realized
drinking silently on nothing
sitting silently at a table of black
sitting silently on that table
a candle flickers as a bug flies away
i turn, see a creature.
a rodent with wings.
wings
wings so big
they move, up down up down.
it soars at the bug.
the bug can hear
the bug moves, the bat has failed.
the candle flickers
the bat has fur
short, fuzzy. barely worth the insulation,
i don't know why it bothers.
should it shave?
it collides
the candle flickers.
a screaming bat, a flaming bat.
it can't see where it is going through the flames of its own face.
i see it coming. i should duck.
but i do not move. effort is beyond me,
i see the bat coming closer and closer
it smashes into my face,
the splendid sound.
such a beautiful sound, that is.
i love the sound of breaking bones, i don't know why.
my nose shatters,
along with half the rodents ribcage.
i think perhaps more than half it's bones are broken, but i don't want to take the time to count.
i think perhaps there is something i should be doing right now.
i'm not doing it why is that
what do i have to do?
change my shirt?
call someone?
scream?
i should scream.
or move.
i should do something, this isn't normal.
"that's what we call an understatement, folks"
so the bat likes to grip with those death talons it has, it really likes to sink them into my face and frankly i don't fucking care right now because i think i'm a little to lazy for that kind of stupid shit. fuck that bat, fuck him. i don't even feel him anymore, the stupid shit bastard. se what i fucking care, go ahead, grip on tight asshole, my skin may be melting but you're about to die. ha.
the bat is dead now. seven years.
seven years of fun.
i'm used to it now.
the looks, the stares, the grimaces.
they stare at my face...
because it's burned...
and scarred.
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