one is red and black. I could swear it tilts its rough-hewn head up to regard me, slayer ,or saviour even -for do i not grant freedom to each one that comes my way?I certainly
try to. Red-black mottled body on red-orange fir floor -looking up at me,
as i descend ,kleenex of blackness in hand- down, do wn the cold toilet whirl to a slow death in septic fluid -broken, they still live, these ants, broken they still live . Behind me a dozen of his brothers bastards all, by one such thousand - slut of a mother - bastards, behind me
they are making free with my new bought fruίt, they are
seeking out the wine they are making trail for the hidden cupboard, full of crumbs , where rings of oil and vinegar , old jars, and forgotten bits of cat food rot- and why should they knot? Bastards.
I'll kill them if i can- but i, alone, a man stand no chance- below my house there is a city i would find more terrifying by far than these bold soldiers find my floor. Fuckers! I hope i never fall in there , i hope peace reigns while i wage genocide - if they realized what i was up to , I wouldn't wake up, to morrow or ever again -unseen my
ground-up bones would line the deepest throne -room passage walls and my teeth, such broken things they are, would pave the floor- the orbits of my eyes would fill with black -legged forms, de vourers, military takers of all flesh -we , too