The Monster Under My Bed.
I oozed into my room leaving a trail of blood behind me-cannibalistic ritual remnants-picking bones from my teeth and baby hearts from my throat. I sunk into the bed slipped into a Coma of confusion. Are my eyes open? Are they closed? Am I really blind? Where is my family?
You ate them.
Why did I do that?
You were starving.
I hear something under my bed. What is it?
I don't know don't ask me.
You seem to know everything.
I can't feel my legs. Flick on the light. Baby death squeal. A pair of black hands retreat under the bed.
Where are my legs?
Where are your legs?
Where are my legs?
Where are our legs?
I relax. My Femoral artery is split in two. Death should come out of it anytime soon. Death slowly creeps from the stumps. I know this is my last night. I close my eyes. Immaculate orgasm.
It lurks in my room. It has needles for legs. Eight hypodermic legs. It waltz's on my torso. That fucker didn't even ask for this dance. It leads.
With all it's legs in my belly. It takes it's greedy hands and picks apart my face. Eating every morsel. Picking skin and muscle. Chewing. Only Skull remains. The drug pumping into my stomach hits harder than a Fags punch to morality.
Where are we?
You are Dead.
I am alive.
NO! I AM ALIVE!
Which one of us are you?
The one born first and last.
Damn this creature in my room. Retreat back to the fucking Hell where you were born. Death is a babies face with an umbilical chord shoved in it's throat, a miscarriage of a 12 year old.
I don't understand.
We don't understand.
You ate them.
Why did I do that?
You were starving.
I hear something under my bed. What is it?
I don't know don't ask me.
You seem to know everything.
I can't feel my legs. Flick on the light. Baby death squeal. A pair of black hands retreat under the bed.
Where are my legs?
Where are your legs?
Where are my legs?
Where are our legs?
I relax. My Femoral artery is split in two. Death should come out of it anytime soon. Death slowly creeps from the stumps. I know this is my last night. I close my eyes. Immaculate orgasm.
It lurks in my room. It has needles for legs. Eight hypodermic legs. It waltz's on my torso. That fucker didn't even ask for this dance. It leads.
With all it's legs in my belly. It takes it's greedy hands and picks apart my face. Eating every morsel. Picking skin and muscle. Chewing. Only Skull remains. The drug pumping into my stomach hits harder than a Fags punch to morality.
Where are we?
You are Dead.
I am alive.
NO! I AM ALIVE!
Which one of us are you?
The one born first and last.
Damn this creature in my room. Retreat back to the fucking Hell where you were born. Death is a babies face with an umbilical chord shoved in it's throat, a miscarriage of a 12 year old.
I don't understand.
We don't understand.