'Ah, the little dears are squealing with pain,
by Yazzy Nixon
How joyous! '
How joyous indeed,
'Oh joyous rapture! '
Mouth quivers in the lips of a madman
Too many times have you (I) felt such a way,
Too far (thus far)
Too many (too much you mean)
Stick my hands through sharp butcher knives
Smelling for blood (sniff sniff)
And you (I) shall giggle
Rip my soul a thousand times over
I will shiver with glee
'Stop, stop, stop tickling me! '
Hm, too much you say?
Too much for myself, too many voices
You (I) am too much for a mere human
My mind has been raped over and over again until
My nerves regress to bloody murder (hell)
You (I) am tortured inside and you (I)
Thyself (hold me)
Beat upon the tiled walls
All of it’s
You (I) ,
why do my wounds open
over and over
why must it be that my (your)
over and under
ripped, shredded, excavated!
Cry myself to sleep
'Ssh deary, tis fine,
In the morning perhaps
Place me in the crazy house now before…
(before I hurt someone)
Red. Red blood,
And a madman who reopens
Over and over