Death Has a Stepbrother
It was a summer night. The concrete jungle air was full of sewers steam, gas fume.
The sound of honking birds that could not fly and the calls of penny paid women.
Their was no moon or stars just the soft glow of lamp light. She was walking the shadows that fell between building, her heals clapped agents the cement floor and her fingers played with the bars that caged the businesses in; as if shopping was a dangerous beast.
It was a beast, a beast that feasted off paper and plastic money.
The nights and days that she have touched were young compared to thoughts that should of been taken instead.
She was to nieve to think she would be next. 'It will never happen to me'.
The lie children tell themselves.
Suddenly a rope was around her neck and she was pulled on to her back. She tried to scream but she couldn't even get air out let alone a sound someone would hear.
He dragged her into one of the billings and kicked her head around some. When she came to their was a bead her arms and legs were tied to.
He wore a mask of hatred with green eyes of moss and mold was his breath; a stepbrother death didn't even know he had.
His knife was sharp and it chilled her skin as he cut her clothing off. She begged him and when that was not enough she screamed and thrashed around, but she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry.
Not for him.
Not even when he forced him self in.
She just bit her lip and tried not to chock on the vomit that was rising up. He came with a quivering of legs and she laughed in his face.
That was when he rapped the cored around her neck. Tighter and tighter he pulled it; as if he could choke her laughter from his ears.
Blood vessels popped in her eyes and soon her brain shut everything down.
He raped her in a ducky shower curtain he stole when he stocked her home and though her away in a dumpster shared by city shame.
When she came to she tried to clime back into her body; but her mouth wouldn't open fare enough and it was to cold to warm back up.
Is this deaths sick form of a cruel trick?
Their is no haven and no hell.
Just empty space for souls to fills
The sound of honking birds that could not fly and the calls of penny paid women.
Their was no moon or stars just the soft glow of lamp light. She was walking the shadows that fell between building, her heals clapped agents the cement floor and her fingers played with the bars that caged the businesses in; as if shopping was a dangerous beast.
It was a beast, a beast that feasted off paper and plastic money.
The nights and days that she have touched were young compared to thoughts that should of been taken instead.
She was to nieve to think she would be next. 'It will never happen to me'.
The lie children tell themselves.
Suddenly a rope was around her neck and she was pulled on to her back. She tried to scream but she couldn't even get air out let alone a sound someone would hear.
He dragged her into one of the billings and kicked her head around some. When she came to their was a bead her arms and legs were tied to.
He wore a mask of hatred with green eyes of moss and mold was his breath; a stepbrother death didn't even know he had.
His knife was sharp and it chilled her skin as he cut her clothing off. She begged him and when that was not enough she screamed and thrashed around, but she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry.
Not for him.
Not even when he forced him self in.
She just bit her lip and tried not to chock on the vomit that was rising up. He came with a quivering of legs and she laughed in his face.
That was when he rapped the cored around her neck. Tighter and tighter he pulled it; as if he could choke her laughter from his ears.
Blood vessels popped in her eyes and soon her brain shut everything down.
He raped her in a ducky shower curtain he stole when he stocked her home and though her away in a dumpster shared by city shame.
When she came to she tried to clime back into her body; but her mouth wouldn't open fare enough and it was to cold to warm back up.
Is this deaths sick form of a cruel trick?
Their is no haven and no hell.
Just empty space for souls to fills