they pull out his rubber cock kept in a drawer and watch how it wobbles in the air disembodied and pink and a little wet still, they can smell him on it, the richness and wetness of his asshole in the open air, my insides’ echoes are all over it, i can smell myself, i want to hide my face and can’t. i clutch at it.
he watches them dangle it over him, like their arms are the branches of some tree holding a fruit, they operate on his shame and i let myself be shamed; made all naked in front of them, and like an autopsied body when they’re through with the studying they put everything back as near they found it. they leave laughing and i want to punch myself each time my cock wags following their laughs. he remembers the cock’s false veins turning in him, how he paid attention to their deep tremors in his insides, the soft red parts of him like fingers gently pulling it deeper, like tongues trying to feel it all, like he was trying to eat it with his asshole. i’m hard and it turns to the awareness that in all violation and humiliation, the only out is the path is to become incendiary and demolish what surrounds you, feral and rabid. i want their sinew in my teeth, i want to floss them out of me, turn them into my spit, a whole organ reduced to chunks in my teeth drying on whatever surface i spit them onto. i am too scared, and he cannot put out the flame, he wants to stand hard over their corpses, his cock out, and still he’d stand remembering that his embarrassment is what will bring him to his knees, and what will make him spew semen across their bodies.
he admits to himself for the first time, shedding shame for something else: i want to kill them not because they are evil, not because the world would lighten for their absence, but because they are ugly fat and overflowing and they are loud and stupid and i want to do it for myself.
i say it: i want to kill like a mouth wants to bite or vomit, to demolish these twin failures.
he is dizzy confusing curtains for drapes he wears over himself, shrouds protecting him, the only soft things on his skin, like angel’s caresses, light and unembodied. i want to see them pulped and cut, the carotid artery flung across rooms, to loosen my belt and bring it against the neck of whoever drives and pull and keep pulling until we are just in a metal heap, i want to kill and laugh, i want to drain them, i want i want i want, i feel so dirty.
i feel bad, seeing myself at the mirror’s corners bending and breaking, turning to other shapes like in a funny mirror, trapped in this place with them. i am just one of them too, suddenly crosses his mind and he feels sorry, lays on the ground, he feels sorry for himself and knows it and lets it come for a little bit, an indulgence like masturbation, to be forgotten in a day’s time and remember months after, and be forgotten forever after that. leaving the ritual half done and i feel sorry knowing my hands couldn’t hurt anybody. i throttle myself and only get hard thinking about how gentle it would be if anyone else were to hurt me.
he prays: make it so i didn’t have to be self sufficient anymore.
i’m just a faggot, i guess.
