Shut Up
I used to be alive
You're disgusting, woman; you make my bones crack and puncture my lungs and my heart and whatever hurts inside me. My eyes sting as if they're burned by your yellow, snake-like ones; even your tongue is long and slit in two to resemble the snake's. I can't understand your fascinations, your pierced tits and what the hell you do with your very long fingers. They're so long I can't help but think you were a musician in another life...
But you're just so disgusting I reject this idea the second it enters my brain; how could you be a musician when you don't even know what a fret is? When you don't know anything but how to fuck total strangers?
I presume you're one of those promiscuous women, like that Susanna in that movie Em forced me to see( which I enjoyed, to be frank with you), that crazy chick that turned out to be a lesbo...
And then I pull myself out of you and run to the bathroom where I throw up all those shots of I-don't-know-what that Bill provoked me to drink; it was a beautiful tinge of green, as that bastard's eyes were, that I-don't-know-what.
And now you're bombarding my ears with questions I can't really dechypher, using a fake, high-pitched voice I don't remember you having when I picked you up at the bar. Actually, I can't hear it very well, because I'm throwing up mercylessly, but you're too dense to figure that out.
I push your long, slender and tattooed arms away from my neck, repusled by the proximity between our bodies and then raise to put on my leather jacket; of course, you need to know why I want to go, because I realized by now that you're kind of retarded, but it's okay...most of the women I fuck recently are...
Sometimes I love the difference between my brain's capacity and these women's, but then sometimes I loathe how much I've regressed; I would've cringed at the idea of sleeping with a woman as stupid as this bitch that I've picked up out of nowhere...
My cellphone rings and I see Em's name after I fish it out of my leather pocket; this junk-of-a-phone is too old, but I can't complain, since it's functional.
I hear a ragged breathing at the end of the line and groans of pleasure and it reminds me of the way Beatrice broke up with me when I was 15; but there' s another sound I hear that gets me off balance and makes me grip the railing in front of the motel room.
'Boston...help'
But you're just so disgusting I reject this idea the second it enters my brain; how could you be a musician when you don't even know what a fret is? When you don't know anything but how to fuck total strangers?
I presume you're one of those promiscuous women, like that Susanna in that movie Em forced me to see( which I enjoyed, to be frank with you), that crazy chick that turned out to be a lesbo...
And then I pull myself out of you and run to the bathroom where I throw up all those shots of I-don't-know-what that Bill provoked me to drink; it was a beautiful tinge of green, as that bastard's eyes were, that I-don't-know-what.
And now you're bombarding my ears with questions I can't really dechypher, using a fake, high-pitched voice I don't remember you having when I picked you up at the bar. Actually, I can't hear it very well, because I'm throwing up mercylessly, but you're too dense to figure that out.
I push your long, slender and tattooed arms away from my neck, repusled by the proximity between our bodies and then raise to put on my leather jacket; of course, you need to know why I want to go, because I realized by now that you're kind of retarded, but it's okay...most of the women I fuck recently are...
Sometimes I love the difference between my brain's capacity and these women's, but then sometimes I loathe how much I've regressed; I would've cringed at the idea of sleeping with a woman as stupid as this bitch that I've picked up out of nowhere...
My cellphone rings and I see Em's name after I fish it out of my leather pocket; this junk-of-a-phone is too old, but I can't complain, since it's functional.
I hear a ragged breathing at the end of the line and groans of pleasure and it reminds me of the way Beatrice broke up with me when I was 15; but there' s another sound I hear that gets me off balance and makes me grip the railing in front of the motel room.
'Boston...help'
♠ ♠ ♠
Boston is Uriel's nickname, used only by Emma...