Joe Goldberg
i shove the book into my mouth and bite a few pages, i yank the book away and i toss it, and grab the torn pages out of my mouth, wet with saliva that you wanted so badly. my last words to you, “open up, guinevere.” i shove the pages into your mouth and your pupils slip around and your back arches, this is the sound of you dying. there are bones cracking, where? i do not know, and tear ducts in emergency mode, the tear of death seeps out of your left eye and onto your porcelain cheek, and your eyes are fixated on somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond any experience. your eyes have their silence, you are no better than a doll now.
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i shove the book into my mouth and bite a few pages, i yank the book away and i toss it, and grab the torn pages out of my mouth, wet with saliva that you wanted so badly. my last words to you, “open up, guinevere.” i shove the pages into your mouth and your pupils slip around and your back arches, this is the sound of you dying. there are bones cracking, where? i do not know, and tear ducts in emergency mode, the tear of death seeps out of your left eye and onto your porcelain cheek, and your eyes are fixated on somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond any experience. your eyes have their silence, you are no better than a doll now.
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Dead by Daylight
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