body_horror silentbob she made a slit a quick incision in the fleshy part of her thigh with a scalpel she purloined from the plastic surgeon. winding the string through, all the slits she fancied herself a marionette doll. all at once graceful and clumsy, like the puppet children of her kindergarten, she tugged and pulled on herself to make herself move like a real girl. when the plastic surgeon came back she said "Look, Daddy, I'm dancing! It's just like you wanted," she said. 210813 ... silentbob The last time I saw you We were hanging poison up in your kitchen Piles of dishes stacked on piles of dishes with dirty water in them. They had a specific smell to them, the piles. Like drudgery and glug. The bugs were not roaches but functioned as roaches Eating bits of food and then scurrying under your oven. They didn't have eight legs, but rather many like a centipede And crunchy black shells that popped and cracked under my shoes. They also had a specific smell Like lying. When you saw one moving you recoiled into my arms I wondered if you were faking just to get close to me. I loved so much about the faces you made You seemed so scared and your mouth would curl up, like a kind of feverish mania. When we were done with the poison, we made quick work of your bed. Licking and sucking and clicking. I could hear the tiny tapping of hundreds of legs on the 1970s linoleum. In the dark your eyes looked black and shiny. You sat on my face and maneuvered in such a way, riding it. I clawed your flesh and you were shiny in the moonlight. I wanted to feel one hundred of your legs clenching around me, devouring me, like caked-on food on a dirty plate. Drag me back under the oven. Subsume my poison. 220410 what's it to you? who go blather from