they were wearing fuck-me-red.
it was the last memory i had, those
cherry nails that scraped along my ribs
like a cat'o'nine.

fangs and teeth, pruned and perfectly white,
snarled down at me while i floundered.
they'd caught me out of water.
but they would be satisfied, no,
they wouldn't ever be satiated.

their blood was far too curled and manicured
in liquor colors and matching bra's and panties.
it was very important, you know.
that they matched their socks and shoes.

but i heard them speaking of the one they called
"their special project," that girl who was
just a little too proud to be twenty pounds
overweight.

they clucked as they wailed, saying,

"oh. my. god.
she was all like,
'you're a bitch' so
i slapped her and
called her a bitch.

i so totally told her."

they so totally did.
after ruthless attempts at
stealing her vitality, they
finally showed her.

they showed her all the way
to the funeral after the final straw,
after the razor glanced along one
too many veins.

(after she finally got the nerve
to press down.)

08/04/2004

Author's Note: complete title: "topic: oh. my. god. she was all like, 'you're a bitch' so i slapped her and called her a bitch. i so totally told her." requested by the chiles man.

Posted on 08/04/2004
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