I think I'll kill you now,
and keep your skin and bones,
like teeth rattling in my mouth,
until you scream for me to stop
killing you now: death is never sudden.
When you stop to drag it out, drag it down
the streets, and smear asphalt with a wide red
streak: It's you, your ribs spread to catch stones
and hold them. Now, every scream is another joy
of icy jewels rattling loose in my pumpkin grin:
Jack doesn't know shit about how much I hate you.
(more poems written by Diana Trees)
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