Saturday, March 13, 2010


Tick, tock, tick, tock.
That is your deathclock.
There is an aching chime in the winds, amidst the change, amidst the approaching downfall of all perfection.
The pocketwatch is impatient and furious like angry winds of insanity.
The little doll with eyes of analysis are judging, solving, picking, grinding. Pretty hips grind, grind, grind to the demon-dark musical!
Flowers dripping with blood, the weapons oozing the seed of the devil, bruised breasts and broken condoms.
Oh, it's magical! To taste the fear, to taste the mascara tears mixed with the bitter sweet red liquid!
Tick, tock, tock, tock.... tock... tock...
Harassed and deflowered, used and abused by the monster fucktools of demons, little moans of pleasure and glorious screams of pain!
As I look into your bleeding eyes, your broken, purple face I'm so certain I am in love with you.

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