(no subject)
Erm. Yeah. As it turns out, I really AM capable of writing anti-lesbian crazypschoman point of view.
Pretty short. Prob'ly rated mature or something, I think just about everyone I know is old enough to read it anyway.
Also influenced by magnetic poetry, which is why some of the phrases are a little strange.
She said that it was over and that she could never really love a man, and she left. Shut the door behind her and went to live with her "girlfriend".
She'll come back. I know we fought-raging powerdrunk language plays over everything and nothing-but she could never really leave, any more than she could ever really love that woman, female trying to wear the skin-suit of a man pretending their so-called "love" means anything.
She'll come back to me crying, her cunt raw from clumsy fumblings with weak hasty fingers. I will take her into my arms and my bed once again and she will learn that she is mine once again, I will crush these crazed delusions she has. I will take them out of her as though my body was a knife and hers was meat, red blood and thick flesh and it belongs to me.
She said that it was over and she left me, but their love will melt like wax roses in the hot strong sun. It will ooze down and puddle around my feet and then I will take her and smear myself across her, her across myself until she is mine again, my bloody broken imitation rose.
Pretty short. Prob'ly rated mature or something, I think just about everyone I know is old enough to read it anyway.
Also influenced by magnetic poetry, which is why some of the phrases are a little strange.
She said that it was over and that she could never really love a man, and she left. Shut the door behind her and went to live with her "girlfriend".
She'll come back. I know we fought-raging powerdrunk language plays over everything and nothing-but she could never really leave, any more than she could ever really love that woman, female trying to wear the skin-suit of a man pretending their so-called "love" means anything.
She'll come back to me crying, her cunt raw from clumsy fumblings with weak hasty fingers. I will take her into my arms and my bed once again and she will learn that she is mine once again, I will crush these crazed delusions she has. I will take them out of her as though my body was a knife and hers was meat, red blood and thick flesh and it belongs to me.
She said that it was over and she left me, but their love will melt like wax roses in the hot strong sun. It will ooze down and puddle around my feet and then I will take her and smear myself across her, her across myself until she is mine again, my bloody broken imitation rose.