Viscera in danger;

Their need is visceral, oh! pretty blonde girl–fresh trailer park trash. Junk yard dogs snarl and quarrel over your flesh–tongues wag to get at your bones. You’re twelve years old, and your marrow is aromatic. You sweat July, unpacking moving boxes. Mother is already drunk.

Welcome to Contaminated Manor–find your place in the court, somehow…

without letting them taste you.

 

 

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28 thoughts on “Viscera in danger;

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