They think they know what it means, but what it really means, is stained into their hollow little bones. Yeah, the ones wrapped in cheapened flesh, painted for the eyes of all the non believers. In the plagued, desperate streets, they parade themselves as if it were something worth seeing. As if it were somehow sexual. But there’s nothing sexual about them, for all they are is wreckage. Fake tans and push-up bras, mangled with fake eyelashes and the stench of abattoirs. They swim in cheapness, and disfigure themselves so that their false souls cannot be seen as clearly. But it goes against them and only ends up highlighting their emptiness even more. It destroys what traces of beauty were not yet already destroyed. There’s no helping them. They are the damned, and they should be obliterated before they devour the rest of us.
They lick the lower ones, sucking until their gums bleed. Oh those smoke ravaged gums, all dying and pale. It’s the only thing they know how. To offer the flesh they have left. To give their hollow bones out to whom it may concern. To whom shows the greatest hunger. The lower ones don’t care though, all they want is to fuck themselves into oblivion. To smash away the women, and cut them into little pieces. They don’t like the holy nature of vaginas. They despise the need within them to be mothered. So to smash away is what they cling to, what makes living bearable. That and drinking. Drugs as well. Just as long as they don’t have to think, and they’ll be okay for one more day.
The way those tongues wrap around your hardened limbs. It’s a dreadful thing to be involved in, but something in you can’t resist. It’s the devil for sure. All that sin makes him revel in your despair. The way those sluts open themselves up, not an ounce of shame to be found as they spread their aching muscles wide. There’s nothing magical about their bodies. Nothing womanly or sacred. It’s hideous and nauseating, and it strips away whatever goodness you had left inside, each and every time. Yet you keep on doing it, keep on taking them by the throat. They’re just too hard to resist. The oblivion they sell, and the rage that drips from their lips. Those blood-red lips, always moist and ready to take you whenever you feel like it. Parading the streets and suffocating you at every turn, there’s no escape. You’re not like them. You can’t keep on doing it day in and day out. There has to be some stopping it, but there’s no end in sight. In the plagued streets where you stand, all there is, is to become like them.
There are no exit signs here.
The stretch marks and foul breath. The acne scars and slit wrists. The horrors that surround you. That drown you. Seeping into your blood, you feel the sickness of others contaminating your very being. The insects that scuttle about your feet, that reach and grab for whatever rags of innocence you have left. The rapists and pornstars. The pimps and priests. The gutter that houses them all, and the diseased world of celebrity that shits them out without end. The system that breeds this putrid mess, is a system that functions perfectly well. It serves all the bad little machines. The machines of god that annihilate all that aren’t them. They don’t care for ghosts. You’re of no concern to them. Nor are all the other lost hearts seeking warmth where there is only fire.
Stubbing cigarettes out on your arm, the pain is something different from what confronts you. Hiding away high above the hive, you attempt to merge into some other existence. Through wormholes and portals. Through make-believe and misery. All you can do, is try to find a way to leave this hell behind.
But the devil won’t let you. He likes you just where you are.