We tried to remove the horse’s heart by savagely beating its chest and back with a bulk of wood snapped off from the heavy stall doors that came to pieces when we smashed through them in a fury of bright excitement to get to the horses. The one we surrounded and smashed up with the wooden beams screamed so loud I thought my ears would bleed.

In the search and subsequent exposure of the infected, lead pencils were sharpened to razorpoints and distributed to available hands. Rubber gloves were administered to all in attendance, though only the nurses themselves would be inspecting for evidence of lice infestation. It was a show, to be sure. The white rubber gloves made for a performance. Grimaces or blank stares were employed. I want you troubled, if not just plain hurt, these stares implied. The nurses, gloved up and pricking their sleek tongues with sharpened pencils, they hovered greedily over the frightened parade, murmuring slight prayers of infection to fulfill legitimate desires of progress and promotion. I sat down in the chair, queasily off balance, but once making eye contact with the nurse I felt both enamored and proprietary … I considered it my chair, and her my nurse. My head screamed, my body shook. Nothing in my life had meant much until today. I stared at the nurse as if she were a provocative scrawl on the side of a traincar presently passing through a populated thoroughfare in front of dozens, or perhaps wholly several dozens. Who knows what scenes she’s attended to, I wondered. What horrors she has witnessed? Just then my old enemy ‘sleep’ wandered in to my life yet again, and I blacked out under the nurse’s pencil. Automaton and regretful enthusiast. I stretched, yawned, though this was pure show, to cover the more serious attributes of my inability to focus on not fainting. It was my great interest that needed to be shielded, and protecting my interests was key. So I threw off the staff and the other gloved but wholly unnecessary staffhands, all with a glare. I grew so stiff with anger that I almost forgot to pay attention to the nurse as the first prick of that sharpened pencil lead bit into my scalp. Maggot to butterfly, I said to myself. Transcend. Molt.

If he hits you again, I’ll kill him.

Oh, I wanted to tell you how much I missed you. But procrastination and wariness is commonly my repetitive mistake. No less so this time. I will miss you tremendously, you know. Maybe I’ll do it right in dreams. I miss you so much.

Bright violence.

Perhaps less faith in people is what it takes to feel weightless, like I can fly. I only feel beautiful inside when I read the headlines and see that some mother’s locked her children in a car and rolled it into a lake. I only feel worth it when I read the headlines and another father has stabbed his two sons in the middle of the night while they were sleeping.

(Source: corpseonpumpkin.com)

I remember when you wanted everyone in the neighborhood dead. Since you were in and out of sleep so much you sketched your dreams on paper, which were still so vivid, and every one of them showed our neighbors being fed to wolves. When you came back from the hospital you were so happy to see your own bedroom again that you dismissed the sketches. But I saved them all and I look at them sometimes before I go to bed and now I have those dreams too.

Just have your crimes, the ones you dream of.

A spider burrowing within the belly of an angel.