• Slowly it burns, the faint aroma if the burning flesh makes its way into your nose... The feelings are there, the haunting like realization that the body you do burn is now propelling some form of itself into you as you translate the very fragrance that it be. A smile to slowly come across that sick face, that beautiful face. Standing over the body, the head burns, at a oh so steady pace... What more to do? Oh so much more to play with. Pins and Nails, Pins are fine. Place them in and watch them stick inside. Through my arm and through your own, we attach ourselves to become something new. I love the body we make when we tear aware at our own. You're just a puppet for me, for me my own.

    I want. . . . I want to drain you .. . . . you're not     that dry. Moist you are, for I wish to cry. I try to cry.. . . .. as much as I can, for I feel that this tear filled body should be drained.