~ m u r d e r ~

Fuck all the flowery language, this one's called MURDER.

I see your face.

I see your face, and I hear your words.

You seem so intensely familiar, and I know I don't like you, independently of all this. I don't like you, and I don't trust you, and now you've come into my house without knocking, and all I can think about is breaking your head open with my hands.

You walked right in the door, and I know it was open, but it's still prudent to check. Just because a thing looks abandoned doesn't mean it is. And you're doing the whole Goldilocks thing (while we're talking about fables), and I'm the motherfucking bear. I'm the bear, and in this story, you don't get away so quickly.

Because lo! here I am, and my hackles are up.

My teeth are bared, eyes are slits, fists balled to bludgeon that face I'm so fucking jealous of, into first a jelly, then a liquid, and finally a fine powder. I'm very determined to do this, and I'm also quite thorough when the mood so takes me.

Animals.

Do not be confused, you're not the wolf you think you are. I see right through you, and canine as your tendency may be, you're just a dog, pissing on entirely the wrong piece of real estate. You're out of your yard now. We shoot dogs here.

I want to attack you, I want you to see me coming, and come at you slowly... coming with my arms out and my eyes wide, prolonging the entrance. Drawing the fear out into long strands, silver, wet, and fragile. I want you to know that moment, that last moment of life without a different body, a body I will give you. I will make this for you, a body that cannot work, cannot last. A body of dust, from my eyes of fire.

And we're confused, the both of us! Your "how could this happen? I didn't realise!" and my usual calm breaking into waves, swallowing both of our respective chances at happiness again. I didn't know I had this in me to be honest, not any more. But it's so real and solid like ice in my gut, ice, rocks, and spines. My chest heaves, green with jealousy...since when did I do jealousy?

I know you're better than I am. You don't need to come into my house to prove it. You're shiny, and you know this. You're banking on it, your interest piqued by someone you absolutely do not need to pursue. And she likes this...she says it means I like her. And it probabaly doesn't hurt to have a plan 'b', or even the faint smell of one. She needs to be wanted. But I cannot have her eyes on you, when I hear her unfold sentences of such great import and potential. Sentences that could change her and I forever. The big things. I'm humiliated that others may see, and I know they do. You're not better at everything, you're so oblivious to this scenario I almost feel for you.

But these strangling hands don't, and these fists and feet don't, and these teeth are far too hungry to be put away now.

I'd like to see that face, and the expression I hand you. The shocked expression that suddenly knows, the enlightened face, the penitent one. The face that wants more than anything for time to reverse. The impossible.Battering fists and knees. Teeth breaking feet.

So as I contemplate all the delicious and violent acts I long to perpetrate, knocking your body and folding it, beating, smashing, breaking, I see what I need to really do.

Because the penalty for such acts is so severe and long lasting, for such a limited stretch of release, the price is too high, even for this much passion, this much desire. I don't want to lose my life for yours.

I need to back away slowly, and leave the two of you together. Leave you to play, leave you in my house, abandon my house, let you piss where you like. Let my house become yours...

...as I point myself toward the dark frost opening, into the woods.



This is knifey, live and direct, from 'the internet'.