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Death to the Whore

Poetry By: sineadmc1990
Poetry


I killed my muse when she pissed me off.


Submitted:Sep 9, 2007    Reads: 146    Comments: 4    Likes: 0   


sitting in a leather dress
she awaits my return
posture, perfectly maintained
natural jet black hair
falling, straight, to her waist
she beckons me nearer
with hands so young, yet pale
i kneel by her feet
knowing that this is her end

i obeyed initially
to her every command
i bathed in her presence
as her lines flowed through me
but she was in control
forever turning on the tap

i have had enough
i want this to end

i grip her hair
pulling her upright
as she screams in pain

"caitlynn"
i whisper in her ear
"say your prayers, my dear
for this is your final day"

kicking her down
to her knees
i listen to her
tears fall silently
she shakes from fear
as i take the blade to her hair
and cut it all off
i make her watch as i do it
adding to her pain

"watch this"
i holler at her
as i slit her throat
from behind
her screams are drowned
by her blood

so thick
so red
so full of life
well...it was...
now as it gathers
in a puddle around my feet
she clings to her life
she holds her throat
but it is futile
for the cut is too deep

i sit in her leather chair
watching her struggle
then as her life fades away
i laugh

once she is dead
i cut again
her organs spill out
as i cut her stomach

who would have thought
that the whore has so much
inside her?

the strong smell
of decomposition
fills the blood thick air

i continue to cut
to slash her into
tiny, tiny pieces
small enough to eat

that gives me an idea

piece by piece
fragment by fragment
i chew and swallow
her dead body and
her decaying organs




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