Looks of despair and remorse, the salty conclusion to infatuation-induced heart surgery; that’s what she thirsted for. To pierce ventricle and atrium as hers had been so awfully violated, streaking her path a wispy, milky red; spirals like tropical storms twisting a pallet of emotions to a sad pinkish-gray.
I remember there was screaming and laughter at the same time, and it sounded terrible and securing at once. It looked just like batteries falling from the back of a dejected toy soldier, clattering to the ground and emptying their caustic acid into the floor’s finish. The walls and carpets melt away and a sick odor fills the whole house, and as brown eyes expand with excitement resembling Hell opening up, the real demon appears.
I have to escape her; they all say I’m next to dangle from her jaws. I’ll hang over, a tablecloth of entrails decorating the chin of the beast. I see now that I’m lost in her scars.
I’ve seen the entry wound of the serpent.
8.4.07
