My ears bleed sonnets of servitude

Nobody fucked me when I was young. Why didn't anyone fuck me when I was young? Was I not good enough in their eyes? Was I not that cute little boy that neighboring mothers would love to blow? I was a squid-being back then, but could my tentacles not have been suckled? Could my ink not have been sprayed? Could my gaping, razor sharp beak not bite into a weak woman's arm and sever it?

Photoshoots and lollipops. Different routes and spinning tops. Playing flute at raving cops.

And yet, maybe nobody wanted to face jail-time for pleasuring a budding squid. Maybe they said "I get lost in his inky black eyes, and his soft, pliable skin is adorable, but do I really want to be accused of raping a squid?" And I would've replied telepathically, "Yes! Rape me! I want you to take me in your arms and show me how the slit between your legs works!" Apparently I sprouted up quickly. Or maybe it didn't go at all like that. Maybe I twisted all of it just now to fuck with myself.

Is there such a thing as self-rape?

Bloody bloody tampon, do re mi. Nutty nutty stamp gone, time for tea.

Still, it wasn't difficult for the mature women to notice me. Whenever they were around, calling me a little baby, calling me a good boy, my tentacles were stiff and erect. Practically DRIPPING with ink. They'd say "Oh, how adorable! I got him excited!" and ooh and aah and then leave me to my own frustrations. Y'know what I'd do? Plug up my suction cups with erasers. That'd show those whores. Fucking sluts, all of them. How dare they not take advantage of me? I just wanted to be loved! And yet there they were fucking their goddamn husbands and maybe some of their sons instead of me. It was a travesty to my childhood, and may be why I'm so fucked up nowadays.












If you're being force-fucked by some burly chick, but it turns out that chick is all in your head, and you're actually milking yourself against your own will, would that be called auto-rape?

hehehehehheHAHAHAHAHHAHA

I fucked a ghost yesterday. A ghost from a dream I had a long time ago. More like a nightmare. But anyway, back to the fucking. She coalesced through the locked steal door I'm in and screamed bloody murder to wake me up. I arose from my bed sharply, as the scream was piercing enough to put several nails through my skull. I looked at her floating there all transparent, and said "Why Heather, what brings you here so late at night?" She complained that ever since she died, nobody could fuck her the way her daddy did. So I offered. "Would you like to fuck me, then? I promise it'll be just like when he accidentally suffocated you with that pillow." She beamed at me, literally, and gleefully said yes. So there I am, undressing for a 14 year old horny ghost when it dawned on me. What would my great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandmother say about this? She'd probably say "Run along little scamp, you've had enough playtime in my rotting flesh." Yeah, that's what she'd say.


So I was fully undressed, her starving little eyes glaring at my fully erect penis. She said, "My, what a decaying cock you have." And I replied, "Why thank you, I keep that chicken corpse lying in the corner to protect me from The Evil Ones." Then, I realized SHE was still fully clothed, so I beckoned her to take her clothes off. Oh how she did, and my, what a beautiful body she had. The skin was ripped away from most of her ribcage, and there was a huge opening on her belly where they took the organs out. Her little breasts, though...oh! They were scratched and bruised all red and purple and blue to oblivion. She was gorgeous.

As she climbed on top of me, one of her eyes fell out, and I picked it up and placed it back inside for her. She started grinding into me, her little heart spurting blood out of her chest and onto me, and she wailed that hellish wail of pleasure and death. Oh, I must say it was quite wonderful, and as she got closer and closer to climax, little tentacles emerged out of her vagina and gripped my member rather fiercely. As she screamed and cried and yelped out of ethereal ecstasy, I grabbed the pillow lying on my bed and flipped her over, thrusting into her tentacles and forcibly holding the pillow over her face. She started crying for her daddy over and over again as we both came closer to coming. There was a shower of blood dripping onto my bed as she screamed one last time. I moaned also as the tightening of the tentacles made me explode. A swarm of bees emerged from my urethra as Heather twitched from the suffocation. I heard muffled from her mouth "They're...they're stinging my insides!" And I said "Hush now, dear...daddy loves you." She had one final spasm and then went completely still. The bleeding from her heart stopped, a pool of blood was dripping under my bed. I heard a knocking at my door, and twisted my head backwards in reaction. Nothing, it turned out. I turned back and she was gone. I heaved a heavy sigh.









I wondered to myself, "Now what am I going to do about all this blood?"

Real is Fake

This world that we all live in, it's run by robotic ants. The ants live in the brains of all the world leaders, and they are controlled by a queen cyborg ant living miles below the antarctic. All these wars, these laws, these conflicts, are machinated by the queen for her own personal gain. Because she absolutely despises humans. Hates them with a passion. Not only are her robotic mind-controllers living in the Membranes of world leaders, but she also controls all of the ants around the world. It's all one big tree of control.

These ants, they're crawling on my skin. Every flick of hair I feel, every itch on my scalp, every goosebump I get is caused by them. I scratch, and the feeling goes away, because they're flying with their little rocket jetpacks onto another part of my skin. Sometimes I feel that brush against my hair, and instead of immediately scratching, I'll look at the spot on my skin. Nothing there. Y'know why? Because they have cloaking devices. The queen ant is that technologically advanced. She's attacking me specifically because I know all about their devious plan to wipe out the human race. She sends her little invisible jet-powered attacker drones to skitter all over me, making me itch like mad. They can also read my thoughts. See, I'm typing this out and as I type it out the itching gets worse. That means they know I'm on to them. So I scratch and scratch, and think about it more, and scratch some more, and it gets worse, and on and on. My scalp is all red because of this. Also I have scars from where they decided to attack my skin and I had to defend my body by scratching at them. They won't leave me the fuck ALONE.

I have plans to assassinate all the world leaders being controlled by robotic ants. I'll gather an uprising, which will fund me to buy a state-of-the-art sniper rifle with armor piercing bullets and plot and plan to take them down. God, they're itching even more. They know I know. The queen ant is probably reading this as I'm typing it, and organizing her ants to come kill me. Too late, fuckers! The zombie piranhas already got my brain. I'm working on just synapses now. Unless the ants crawl through my ears and into my mouth and work their way up to that hollow space and build a nest. Then I'm fucked. My ears are itching. They already know. That queen ant, she's a crafty motherfucker. Her drones can read my thoughts. Better not think about it, then. Maybe it will all go away.


I'll think about balloons and fucking and racecars and bunnies and green and borscht and MSG and exploding heads and the number 3 and tires and footlong subs and metal wires and LEGO and suave hats and 8 ft tall naked women and neurons firing and the gates of hell and the SPCA and gnawing on fingers and really large guns and ink cartridges and cardboard boxes and the cheshire cat and the 1920's and Transylvanian castles and filing lawsuits and stubbing my pinky toe and female robots masturbating and wood lacquer and getting high off markers and Spuds Mackenzie and giant claymores and slugs frying in salt and getting my first blowjob in the movie theatre and ballpoint pens and security passcodes and picking dead skin off my ankles and breadcrumbs and red lines and that one art piece of a cross inside a jar full of piss.

OH GOD THEY'RE EATING ME

The fishes...the zombie piranhas are chewing at my brain. Gnawing, chomping, squishing, slurping. Piece by piece, lobe by lobe they're decimating my mind. Feasting on the Giant Pink Membrane encased in my skull. It's only a matter of time before I start speaking jibberish.

You don't know what it's like to feel them swimming through your head. Diving, jumping around, wiggling their little fins as sharp teeth rip through tissue. It's excruciating. There's blood dribbling out of my ears...out of my nose, out of my eyes. Dripping onto this goddamned white marble floor. If I try to stop them from tearing my brain apart, by slamming my face against the hard floor as forcefully as I can, The Men will come and sedate me. And I don't wanna be sedated, unlike the Ramones. So I have to go through this agony. Why couldn't it have been ticks, or termites, or a hive of bees? No, it had to be fucking piranhas. If only I had something sharp to stick into my ear, shove in there as deep as it could go, and pick them out. But I don't.

I'm crying. I'm crying bloody tears.

They taste like pennies dipped in salt. It's a weird taste, it reminds me of when I licked the statue of Abraham Lincoln in Washington. My tongue reaches out on either side of my face to lap up the delicious hemorrhaging coming out of my eyes. I don't know why, it's a strange taste, but it feels right, it feels perfect, it feels like it belongs. I dunno. Maybe I'm a true masochist at heart.

Abby visited me yesterday. She gave me candy hearts that said vulgar things on them, and I tried to hide them the best I could under my pillow but The Men found them and took them away. Not a part of my regimen, they said. SHAME on Abby for showing her true feelings, they said. She said she had a boyfriend now. I asked, "Is he an Ox lusting for extinction?" and she said yes. That made me relieved. At least if she gets tired of him she can grind his testicles up, dry them, and sell them to a witch. I'm sure a witch would pay a high price for ground up Ox testicles. A high price indeed.

The chatter of zombie piranha teeth ringing through my eardrums has kept me up for 3 days now. I hope it'll stop. I hope they'll just get done decimating my cerebellum and I'll lie on the ground comatose. A vegetable, they'll call me. If I do become a vegetable, I hope I resemble an onion. Pale white, flaky, and my skin will peel off in fleshy, stinking layer after layer. They'll chop me up and put me on steak sandwiches. And then I'll be carried around in people's stomachs, sightseeing if you will, until I eventually return to the Earth.

Chitter Chatter Chitter Chatter Chitter Chatter Chitter Chatter Chitter Chatter Chitter Chatter

He's Looming Over Me

Slowly, silently sneaking, he's watching me. He's in the corner right now, just staring at me. His beady, black eyes penetrating through my skull like radiation. He's just floating there, upside down on the ceiling. I look in the reflection on the computer screen, and I can see him. His bulbous, bloated body, pink and puffy, his trunk all tangled and twisted. I try to ignore him, but I can't. "You know, you're trapped in here," He says with his vibrating venomous voice. "I know," I reply sad and sulkily.

I've been in here for about 13 years, and every day it's been...an absolute archaic abomination. Day in, day out, day in, day out, they put me in The Room, they inject me with my medication, and then they leave me there. Every other day they give me internet for an hour, and sometimes they stick me in the TV room to keep me quiet when I start seeing my friends. Sometimes I lie and freak out just so I can see what's going on with the world.

Who are "they", you ask? The Men. Men that you could never fight against even if you tried. The Men that control where you go and what you do. The Men that treat you like you're some geriatric when you're a fucking 30 year old man.

"You know, you have the willpower to fight them, you just don't use it," The Pink Elephant in the corner says. I've told him to shut the FUCK up and get out of my head a million times, but he hasn't yet. None of them have. They just float around the room and don't stay quiet. Sometimes they really fuck with me. Sometimes it's just a few annoying comments. Either way, I'd rather be completely alone.

I wish I could escape. I wish I could escape. I wish I could escape. I wish I could escape. I wish I could escape. I wish I could escape. I wish I could escape. I wish I could escape. I wish I could escape. I wish I could escape. I wish I could escape. I wish I could escape. I wish I could escape. I wish I could escape. I wish I could escape. I wish I could escape. I wish I could escape. I wish I could escape. I wish I could escape. I wish I could escape. I wish I could escape. I wish I could escape. I wish I could escape. I wish I could escape. I wish I could escape.