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rivers of mascara and saliva pooled in her sharp jugular notch.
What the fuck is happening to me?
Is this what it's like to lose your mind?
Laughter as sharp as razor blades
You really are pathetic, you...
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the thin veneer of flesh.
sperm congealed in her esophagus.
scattered like broken teeth
the spongy gray tissue of Ray's brain.
He can't make out their expressions, but he feels their bitterness, their rage. He gets drunk on it.
If he drifts off now, it'll be into death,
he can't feel himself breathing, and the numbness is crawling up his chest to his neck, to his mouth,
just a dull ache—a memory of pain.
a small white room with a hard white bed and stark white walls.
the spongey, wet tissue of his brain,
I'd hated him to the core of me,
I'd wanted him dead more than anything I'd ever prayed for
vacant, unblinking eyes
you are what you are."
animals will fight back anyway they knew how
Just like God, the White Coats ignored my appeals.
I knew I would die.
the tight canals of his veins,
acoustic weaponry."
"I never wanted to hurt anyone,"
a science experiment beyond the petty concerns of limitations and government sanctions.
suffering breeds compassion.
All the while, all those years, an invisible noose had dangled over his head, poised for the right moment to tighten.
the weight of helplessness pressing down on her, stopping her from chasing after him and screaming at him until her throat was raw.
the biggest class-A asshole you'd be likely to meet.
black, choking stench of his charring flesh.
the human body smelled a lot like salted pork when it burned,
a man so close to the witching hour
it was difficult to stay Zen leading a man to his death,
their own desperate hunger for vengeance.
the condemned
unconscious and swollen, bloody and bruised.
"It was brave of you to stand up for me. Brave, and terribly stupid."
Pink froth began accruing in the creases between his lips.
Cracked the top of his skull. Pulverized the gelatinous meat inside.
Edmund Burke said... 'The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.'"
Slashes of brilliant white bone peeked through the wounds on his numbing fingers. As he clenched his hand into a fist, tendons pulled taut in the exposed meat.
He felt the flesh tear all the way up to the back of his knee, heard it tear like Velcro,
the flesh tore free, like ripping off the world's largest Band-Aid, every nerve bursting, pop-pop-popping on his pain receptors, white-hot flecks of agony
the torn scrap of flesh and tendon a joke-shop splat on the floor
The flesh blossoms open
opening my flesh to the bone.
the pain so far beyond anything I've experienced that I'm now mentally detached from it, as if I'm watching it being done to someone else's body, through someone else's eyes.
This flesh is no longer mine.
dressed in hand-me-down flesh.
