Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Nathan Squiers Sep 2014
I'm sure you're out there hating all that I have become,
Cursing me and memories of all the things I've done.
I'm sure you're out there wallowing in the depths of I-don't-care-where,
I'm even sure you're chanting that all of it was unfair.
And while I don't feel I owe you a single wasted breath,
Allow me now to tell you how I came to bring you death:

As your lapdog I felt compelled to take you in my jaws,
And as your partner I was shackled by all those grueling laws.
As your master I was bored by every tear you ever shed,
But as your killer I was tickled by just how much you bled.
Can you see it now--should sight allow--what I never could foresee?
That only once, my tortured dunce, could you bleed enough for me.

I may spot you in the ether of the world not quite our own,
And you may ache to see that I have found myself alone.
However...
I've taken many others in the time that you've been gone;
Many who have served me well, so very few withdrawn.
These things aren't said to anger you, but just to give me peace.
I truly hate to plague my mind when my property decease.
Whatever.

As a mistress I was driven to see you beneath my boot,
And as an equal you were never intellectually astute.
As a servant you were lacking in the class that I demand,
And as a pet you oft ignored the rule of the feeding hand.
Through it all--'tween rise and fall--there was the alpha-sin, you see,
Because, darling, though I love you so, you didn't bleed enough for me.
I've always been rather intrigued by stories that were told from the point of view of the villain (or at least what most would consider the villain to be). Every now and again the urge to toggle this perception and offer a unique and rarely utilized narrative device. Earlier, I was enjoying some music by the German synth-metal band "Oomph!" and was motivated by one particular line (that pretty much directly motivated the title herein).

I hope you enjoy ^_^
Lunar Jul 2014
He skipped and he hopped.
He popped and he locked.
He danced with his feet,
to Mcdonalds' fast beat.

He puffed up with pride;
warm in the inside.
And fresh with his lettuce;
junk food is his fetish.

He never thought what would come;
he thought it was all fun.
In a funky yellow wrapper
and into the warmer he went.
He heard the kaching of the cashier--
someone's money was spent.
He was dragged to the front line
where the lights were all bright.
Like he was sent in for interrogation;
Like in a murderer's plight.

And like that he went.
A tear from his bread skin:
the top of his sesame seed bun head
human teeth sank in.
He yelled and he screamed
with all that he got.

He thought he was happy.
But he's everything he's not.
tell me when did i get this brutal to food???
i was clearly buzzed bored when writing this at a party.
Ethel Freestone Mar 2014
It’s dark and cold
What a beautiful evening
What could be better?
Than to watch you die bleeding

— The End —