Oct. 22nd, 2006

winneganfake: (Default)
I can feel your flesh, cool beneath my fingers as I stroke your side. A moment of resistance, then a small *pop* as the blade penetrates your skin. I breathe in, smelling the pungent scent of your true self, the self inside your outer shell, and I begin to cut. Small, slices, at first, but as your scent fills the air further, I cannot restrain myself, I hack and cut into you until my hand aches from where I hold the knife. Where solid flesh stood, a hole now gapes, inviting me in.

I discard the knife, reaching in with my hand to caress inside of you. So many textures meet my fingertips- wet-slick, ropy, yet sticky, clinging to my hand in a lover's embrace. I cling back, tightening my hand into a fist, as I slowly pull your entrails from your body. I reach in again, and again, pulling forth more of you with each grasp. your juices stain my hands and face as they fly. Minutes later, the work is done- all of you lies in a wet heap in a bowl at my feet. I sort through the bowl, separating the small, hard bits of you- the hidden jewels- from the rest. I then take up the knife again, and with extreme delicacy, part your flesh once more. smoothing your inner walls, opening you again, and again, and again.

At last, the work is done. Tomorrow night, I'll light a candle in you, enjoy the scent of you baking under the flame's small heat. As for your hidden jewels, I'll wash them, and roast them in butter and spices.


winneganfake: (Default)

October 2012


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