Trapped.

[benedict-donner.livejournal.com]

Day 258, Sunday, February 13th
Sometime
A Basement Cell

I'm beginning to think people in this town don't like me.

The thought sets me to laughing until I start coughing. The slowly healing wound in my side feels too hot, and every time I move it hurts like a broken rib, without the grating of bone. Every time it burns or stabs I go hard, the look of her face covered in my blood making me bite my lip until I can taste it again.

Someone needs to take a rusty Bowie knife to you
From your groin to chest-bone, spill the truth.
That way you might touch your inside like I has to
Like you always make me do
Someone spaded Jesus Christ through skin meat and bone
The iron from the spike it starts that rustin'
The iron from His blood add to that rustin'

I don't think I'm getting out. Not yet, maybe not for a while. She wouldn't help me. The deputy helped me right into this hole. Management didn't help me. Syl, Zann, sweet Genny, all those I never killed, I never ate or raped... they didn't help me either.

There's gratitude for you.

I fit myself into the pre-made hole, in this wedding sheet
When I lay down on top of you
Someone says I’m hard, but I’m never hard enough for you.
Especially when you take your sewing needle and scratch a mark on your wrists
Especially when you take your sewing needle and scratch a mark on your ankles
Especially when you take your sewing needle and close up that hole in our sheet
Then you use this sheet to wipe away your inside

Oh, oh, carrion bird. My voice croaks out the song past my dry lips, cracked and crusted with my own blood. You could have been mine, we could have fed, I would have shared it all for you, all for you, we killed and we fed and fucked and you had their bodies, scraped all clean while I watched sated not hungry not hungry ever again unless I wanted, just hungry enough to have and to hold and share you were with me and it was glorious.

Now our sheets it’s got a red hue
Our sheet it’s got this stiffness
Now our sheet is growing twice growing
The iron from your inside it re-opened up that hole yes
It did rust it, your blood it rusted
Your iron it rusted, your iron is rusting
Now everything is rusting, and everything is rusting, and everything
will rust for you as well

I sing and sing until my voices rasps to a stop, until my fingers stop trailing in circles over the wound, teasing at it with the memory of the knife, until my breath slows, until -

*

Light streams down through the small window, set high in the wall. I blink, sitting up, my throat raw and dry. "Water," I whisper, but no one answers. I bang on the bars until the deputy comes.

I hate Excolo.

[Closed]

Trapped.

[benedict-donner.livejournal.com]

Day 258, Sunday, February 13th
Sometime
A Basement Cell

I'm beginning to think people in this town don't like me.

The thought sets me to laughing until I start coughing. The slowly healing wound in my side feels too hot, and every time I move it hurts like a broken rib, without the grating of bone. Every time it burns or stabs I go hard, the look of her face covered in my blood making me bite my lip until I can taste it again.

Someone needs to take a rusty Bowie knife to you
From your groin to chest-bone, spill the truth.
That way you might touch your inside like I has to
Like you always make me do
Someone spaded Jesus Christ through skin meat and bone
The iron from the spike it starts that rustin'
The iron from His blood add to that rustin'

I don't think I'm getting out. Not yet, maybe not for a while. She wouldn't help me. The deputy helped me right into this hole. Management didn't help me. Syl, Zann, sweet Genny, all those I never killed, I never ate or raped... they didn't help me either.

There's gratitude for you.

I fit myself into the pre-made hole, in this wedding sheet
When I lay down on top of you
Someone says I’m hard, but I’m never hard enough for you.
Especially when you take your sewing needle and scratch a mark on your wrists
Especially when you take your sewing needle and scratch a mark on your ankles
Especially when you take your sewing needle and close up that hole in our sheet
Then you use this sheet to wipe away your inside

Oh, oh, carrion bird. My voice croaks out the song past my dry lips, cracked and crusted with my own blood. You could have been mine, we could have fed, I would have shared it all for you, all for you, we killed and we fed and fucked and you had their bodies, scraped all clean while I watched sated not hungry not hungry ever again unless I wanted, just hungry enough to have and to hold and share you were with me and it was glorious.

Now our sheets it’s got a red hue
Our sheet it’s got this stiffness
Now our sheet is growing twice growing
The iron from your inside it re-opened up that hole yes
It did rust it, your blood it rusted
Your iron it rusted, your iron is rusting
Now everything is rusting, and everything is rusting, and everything
will rust for you as well

I sing and sing until my voices rasps to a stop, until my fingers stop trailing in circles over the wound, teasing at it with the memory of the knife, until my breath slows, until -

*

Light streams down through the small window, set high in the wall. I blink, sitting up, my throat raw and dry. "Water," I whisper, but no one answers. I bang on the bars until the deputy comes.

I hate Excolo.

[Closed]