Men

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Oh I don’t hate men, please no

It’s just that sometimes I dream

Of stabbing them in their throats

And chopping it off their thighs

Accidentally spilling acid on them

And gouging out their eyes

And leaving the bodies to writhe and die

It’s nothing personal, just that I

Can’t help myself at times

When they’re simply asking for it

Those egotistical pieces of shit

But oh I don’t hate men, no

Not all men

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Gifts

“He used to shower me with gifts, you know” She walked in unannounced. The sound of heels clattering against tiles ceased and her heartless gaze met the horrifed face of the only occupant of the kitchen. 

She studied the maid like an animal weighing its options. A disgusting housekeeper is what he fancied better than the one woman coveted by hundreds of suitors. What was it that he saw in a filthy maid that he failed to find in a noble woman like her. Beauty maybe, but no ranks, no jewels, no class, a piece of garbage. He got what he deserved.

“M..Mrs. Desmund! How n..nice of y..you to stop-p by. W..would you like s…some tea?” The maid frantically dug into the cupboard, looking for an excuse. Her shivering hands let slip a kettle and the sound of expensive china shattering like her sanity, enveloped the kitchen. She froze and so did her heart. 

“DON’T YOU FUCKING MOVE UNLESS I TELL YOU TO! UNDERSTAND YOU WHORE?!”

The lady like poise vanished as a monster slipped through the crevices of a perfectly polished persona. Mrs. Desmund took a deep breath, composed herself, and tried to block out the sobs of a filthy 18 year old, panic striken servant.

She placed a beautifully wrapped package on the kitchen table,
“Always wearing himself out” She continued in her previous charming tone, “finding the most expensive ring, the smoothest pearls, the largest diamonds, the perfect tokens.”

“And yet, this one is the best I’ve received so far”

A slight tug to the ribbon let the wrapping loose; the grip on the rag tightened and so did the lungs making breathing laboured. Prespiration and tears adorned one woman’s face while a steely smile carved into the other’s. The paper slipped and a mortified face of Mr. Desmund peeked through. Glassy life-less eyes stared back into the gleeful eyes of a woman he once cheated on. The air seemed to thin in the spacious kitchen and lights seemed to dim as the maid fought hard to maintain focus.

“Don’t you think?” whispered Mrs. Desmund, stroking the matted hair of her loving husband. The maid stood petrified, holding onto her dirty rag as if she had just peered into the future, and seen her own imminent death. Her skin had turned a pale similar to that of her lover’s putrid head. 

“It’s a shame you have to see him like this.” She turned towards her. Her limbs and conciousness began betraying her as she struggled to get up and run for her life.

“P-please Mrs. D..esm..umd p..please, believe m..me please, It’s n..not…NO! Please…It was him…” she tried to sound intelligible between sobs, but Mrs. Desmund wasn’t listening.

The sound of metal scraping against stone followed by wallowing shrieks of misfortune echoed in the newly furnished kitchen.

“It’s about time I gave him the perfect gift.”

Woman

Tears dare slide
Down rosy cheeks
Only weaklings weep
Where is your mask?
Put it back on
This is your face
Caress it
To cry is to feel
And to feel is to fall

Straighten that neck
Nose in the air
Fire in your eyes
Rod up that spine
To bend is to beg
And to beg is to fall

Perfect that walk
Not a walk, its a dance
Dance, you are a swan.
Suitors line up
Look how they chase you
Let them crave you
Then break their hearts
To love is to cede
And to cede is to fall