anna-elizabeth

There’s this small squishy thing laying in the centre of my kitchen table, It’s vile and putrid and leaking out across the wood, The hairs on the back of my neck erect, a shiver down my spine, All I want to do is to scream at it! I want to do things to it in anger, Slice it, Cut it, Stab it, It’s just laying there motionless and cold, Is it alive? Can it feel pain? I slowly lean closer to the table... I want to test its limits with my curiosity, Poke it, Peirce it, Squeeze it. It squirms and screams loudly! Wriggling, pulsating, breathing in and out, It’s gasping for air like its drowning! This time my a