So there’s a demon in your soul and it wears my face.

Welcome to hell, you’d like to think so. You don’t even remember what I looked like then, let alone what I look like now.

You remember what I had to say, but not my voice.

You remember how I made you feel, but not my touch.

You remember choking on me, but not the taste I put down your mouth.

I’m just a convenient metaphor. A symbol for something that maybe gives you a little meaning. A tool. Implement (me).

You lick your lips. You’re so hungry, your starving. Slide it over your tongue and down, deeper, choking-deep into your mouth. You can’t stand the thought of not gagging on the memory of me. Your knees grind into the carpet and your chest rubs raw against my legs. You can’t breathe unless your gasping to breathe around me. Your knees rub raw. Gag. Gag and choke. Saliva and sweat. Distend your jaw in desperation, for just a little, just a little more. Force yourself forward so your mouth and nostrils are filled with just a little more. You fill up, give off heat. Give off heat like you never thought possible.

You’ve never had so much to give in your whole life. You’ve never taken so much, never been so full, so empty, your whole life. You’ve never needed the bathroom so much.

Could you? Would you? Right here? Right now? You’ve never been so full. Your whole life.

So much. Your whole life. Give or take, give and take. Swallow. Deeper. You hear me tell you its ok. Baby. It’s ok baby. Deeper.

You look up at me. Feel the warmth of tears on your cheeks. Hear me tell you its ok.

Deeper. Your whole life.

Your whole life. Your whole, whole life.

10/29/2005

Author's Note: Get it out. Kill a million with one bullet. Kill yourself or kill me--there's no difference. Get it out. Don't comment on this unless it kept you up all night. Unless you've killed over it. Unless it's killed you. Unless it's right. Get it out.

Posted on 10/29/2005
Copyright © 2024 Richard Paez