Musik: Doll Parts - Hole
Kleiden: Grey Blondie jumper, grey mini skirt and purple flowery tights
Filme: Brokeback Mountain (Ang Lee)
Buchen: Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist - Rachel Cohn and David Levithan
I scare myself a little sometimes. This poem is about a misogynistic, phycho killer. His name is Bob. Not really, though I'm joking...
I guess I felt like it was the exact opposite of myself, and therefore interesting to write about.
Red Ribbons
I want to fuck you.
Then I want to kill you.
You’re so fucking pretty,
But you’d look prettier in a coffin.
Your long satin ringlets,
Red ribbons in your hair,
Porcelain skin,
Long, batting eyelashes…
The blush of your cheeks,
Does not quite become you.
Better they were pale and thin
Pale and all drawn in.
Better you were preserved,
Just exactly as you are.
Your purpose fully served.
I imagine unlacing your dress,
The curve of your breast,
How soft your cheeks look.
The shining of your dark eyes,
Your teeth biting your lip with pleasure
And then again with pain
As I bash in your fucking brain.
The way you’ll press yourself against me,
Soft, smooth, flawless…
How I’ll make you moan,
Then make you howl,
I’ll make you cry out.
I wonder what your blood will look like,
Staining the carpets, leaking in pools
Shall I make you bleed
The way all of your kind have bled me dry?
No, just death.
That’s all.
And in death you shall be perfection.
The way a girl should be.
Still, silent and
Belonging to me.
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