in the wet, wild thicket of thickness
a bald skull gleams
and she sheds a tear
buries her life inside his yellow crust
and a mistake is made
'this is what makes me different:
I ain't like them other girls
I'm fun, outgoing, I like to party..."
i aint no farmer's daughter, i'm a brand name bitch
backmasking is the devil's last refuge
the ultimate foil
'i see the beast in all my father figures
i seek his warm, hot blood
his cool, smooth way
his steadfast gaze'
the girl's got to have it
a sharp crash, a clean break
cold shudders multiply
shards spread, all erections within a 30 mile radius abruptly cease
tiny pieces 'go out' in precisely different directions, all the time
in their own way, the only way it could be
she flinches/he winces. it's over.
a void emerges, soon to be filled
and removed, perpetually