May 25th, 2015by saishoku kenbi
Akin to a banshee’s ominous wail, the disembodied screams of a necro-girl tearfully pleading why are bottled up in abysmal vials labeled: “Fill thee”. She is one of the silent lambs, misplaced among the damned. Her scars are braille suicide notes, myriad and unread — a hidden stigmata like the indelible fingerprints that were burnt on her skin; “Wish I could bludgeon him with a sledgehammer and smash open his bald cranium. Wish I could plunge a blade hilt-deep into his grotesque layer of adipose tissue and eviscerate that corpulent swine. If only I could; I would avenge childhood’s ruination”.