helvetius | a hundred words (that shouldn't have been)

She said it no longer matters so I opened her up and stared into the cesspit below. Your heart still beats. It will stop soon enough, smoke trailed from the painted pout. Your eyes are red. They have always been red. Your lids are paper-thin, fingers trailing over quivering skin. All the better to see you, my love. You have been crying? Nothing worth worrying. Red arms met red lips, the female slit.

It is almost time, Fool.

Lips to lids, I have no way, and therefore want no eyes, out vile jelly. The feather stirs, you are not dead.