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Writing Bit nails, torn hands, and death.


Mitch
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Isn't done yet. I'll post more parts as I get them done.

[b]bit nails, torn hands, and death.[/b]
volatile deal
smit smuttering squeal,
the enchant killed,
spinnering russian roulette,
sense sexing feel.
she keel.

boom bangs
hair and stains,
blood gurgle
drain fodder
for steel-toed death.

steel-toed, not less
the most strongest
but blest the lest;
and lest the less.

bit nails,
torn hands;
the seizer scissor
cut-mows grass
"eat it bitch, to the last,"
screeches rancid face,
fece gracers rememberances
tango death-dead glances.

"eat it bitch, eat it or die,"
the plate
boom bangs
off hair,
falling round
the chair.

flies maggot
down de-evolution
feceing truetion,
she fruitions
inclusion,
the realizational home
inhuming tome written
"eat it bitch,
eat it, or die."

she thinks:
die anyways.
die anyways,
going to
be killed
anyways.

nudged again,
the seizer scissor
in reach,
stench stinks
as feces perfume.

rancid face again
grim grin down mask
his eyes slaughterhouse,
blood-flow bleeders' ground.
veins poke,
pin-sticks clown,
the blood pumping round
his beater's heart.
time drains,
bleed angel of death.

smells snail
preverbal olfactory
laboring pollute
of sweat-salt death.

she breaths
knitting her teeth
sharpener's knives,
collides the plate
crackle glassed
falls fast.

she tastes
primal
she tastes
wanal.

rough chunks
anal her mouth
languid humes
maggots ate.
chewing, visceral glue
wastes through,
disinter her tongue
swallowing, knot skew
feces fall through.

she tastes
aftertaste
she regurgles
as she repulses
holding in.

"that's right bitch,
broke the plate, ya better
eat that shit.

"better eat it like you
wanna live and breathe
'cause it ain't gonna
work how you think
or how I
think."

rancid face
hefts gun
metalal cunt
to brush
aliveness away.

cocking,
he turns away.
bleeding still
slaughterhouses
his eyes.

she thinks:
he going shoot
he going shoot.
get away, do
something.
barf if you
have to.

she regurgles
carpet strings paint
black fecal stains,
liquid waste.

rancid face
turns around,
smile plasters
his face,
dancing open
in the room
and out the window,
bright as hopelessness
he sees
the feces regurgle.

"come on dear, ya just haff
to go and do that, don't ya?
bitch, i said you gonna eat
that shit, eat it like you
wanna live.

"and this is what ya give
me, ain't it? you give
me pooked shit fer the
nice treat i gave ya.
well i'll show ya somethin'
that'll make ya wanna live.

"it'll make ya wanna live
like all's that die wanna do."

he holds out
a head,
its bones fitter
out its neck.
the stench
smells bigot dead.

the head,
cut off from throat,
has eyes wide open;
the moment
forever in them,
wide open and raw,
mouth agaped
as it saw.

she looks
tears begin cry
down cheeks.

rancid face
smiles.

"and who's this, bitch? he look familiar?"

she looks
says nothing.

"speak now, bitch,
or else i'ma gonna haffta."
gun glares her,
she shivers.

"it's my husband,"
she says,
"my husband."

"and ain't dat the truth. now, how ya think i killed 'im, hm?"

she looks
says nothing again.

"i'm gettin' testy, bitch! ya better speak up."

she struggles
then coughs answer.

"y-y-you cut off his head,
y-y-you must've used a knife,
or sh-shot him."

she sniffles
through teeth
clacked terse.

"ya got most o' it right,
but first i made 'im eat shit?
jus' like you. den i shot 'im
over and o'er again,

"and do you know what the felt like, bitch?"

she sniffles again
through teeth
clacked terse.

"n-n-no, i d-d-don't kno-know. no sir. just please, don't kill me!
don't kill me, please d-d-d-d-don't kill me don't kill me please don' kill me
don't kill?"

he covers
her mouth
in tape.
it papers
as she mumbles
through it.

"ya bitch, that's no way ta treat a gentleman as meself.
i guess ya don't wanna know what it felt like, do ya? guess not.

"but i'ma gonna tell ya anyways. i'ma gonna make you see eyes-to-eyes
with me. gonna make you feel like i do. and i ain't gonna hold back, neither.
doin' dat ain't considerable.

"a good story's a good story, don't ya agree, bitch?"

she mumbles
through her tape
as it papers
up and down.

"wat was dat? can't hear ya, bitch. maybe i'll pull ya tape off,
but first, ya gotta agree ta be considerable. ya agree, hm?"

her eyes,
death valleys
fall to her face
her mouth
moves under
tape all muzzle
subtle,
she nods
like wheat
winding
in the wind.
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[size=1]Wow, Mitch, that's so vile I didn't know you had it in you. It's...disgusting. My stomach was churning and my lip was curling in sympathy for the poor.

Mitch, really, I thought that was...brilliant.

I know I don't often review your poems, but I do usually read them, and I think I enjoyed reading this one more than usual. It makes a statement.

Honestly, Mitch, I'm impressed. Really impressed. *shivers* The emotion you can drag from that poem was just...wow.[/size]
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Guest Skyechild91
::starts crying:: Waaaaaaaaaaaaa......... Mitch that was sad... and slightly scary... but... waaaaaaaaaaaaa..............:bawl::bawl:
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[color=deeppink]
Well. That was morbid and morose. =) A true Poe follower...^.~

It was pretty good, but I've seen better from you. Some of the lines were rather out of place, and not in a good way as some stories and poems do. They were just...weird. Like this one:

'bleed angel of death.'

I just thought that it didn't fit where you put it. Perhaps if you had put a different word other than angel. Just my opinion.

But, it was still pretty intense. There just seems a piece lacking, I'm not sure what. Yea, I know, I'm real helpful. Lol.

-Karma
[/color]
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