sweet dreams, magdalena solis

it’s a special sickness

it’s a madness

that belongs outside the borders of life

the need to destroy

the delight in carnage

to feel power by another flinching

is it organic to the berserker brain

or is it plastic demented activity to justify you and yours

the uphill anger and irrational maliciousness defines you

you are a child weilding a magnifying glass torturing ants

despite the crisp lines in the fabric of the soul

you are only a creature made of jellyfish guts and death

the stench of a delirious killer

the smell of you lingers in the back of the throat

like unkept assholes and old blood

the monster in you will be the star of a just revolution

one day you will be put against the wall, begging for mercy

but apologies at gun point are baseless

you will be alone and as your eyes bulge from their resting place

you will know the evil you have done

you will see the slashes and gashes you wove by hand

pack your bags, dollface, we two are walking into hell

and before i leave i will raise my glass to the penance

that is only your’s