She dreamt herself a princess
The center of all love
A long robed beauty lightness
Her flowing golden hair lovingly combed by sister-maidens twice a day
She would stare out for hours over rolling fields of little red flowers
Never minding the terrible racket going on outside her door,
Never minding the continous sobbing that seemed to ooze
through every crack in the wall
What was going on in other parts of the castle wasn’t hers to worry about
She would lie down on her four-poster bed,
a perfect sleeping beauty, and drowse in deep harmony with…
A mangled little form tangled in dirty sheets,
Bled red and tightly pressed to ease rectal bleeds
This tortured shell carelessly cast aside
Subject to the furthest extend of their fatherly pride
Painfully got up from the bed
Statics crackingly ruled her head
Limping to a badly cracked mirror face on the wall
and began brushing the princess’s golden hair fall
Oblivious to the grotesquely swollen child face staring back at her
Insert your brainplugs gentlemen and gather around
Today we bring you fairytale abuse in real time
Experience being lolita and user
And bring yourself to unknown heights of human devolution
Big Brother up to it’s maximum
Pelvic Personification force-feed perversion
What a docile race we are nurturing our own infected imperfect nature
The mirror became claws pulling her into pervert’s paradise
She found herself tunneled in a dark vast forest passage
Great branches arching over her, dwarfing her to the ground in terrified awe
Shadow shrouded trunks obscurely portraying large numbers
of ill-composed silhouettes
Lost in ominous malevolent woods
As if opperated from the outside, her feet began to move
After what seemed a nightlong of slo-motion
Her surroundings closed in and blew up in her face
Sprawled on her back, limbs held to a squirming ground
Grabbing - groping - inserting, cold laughter the only sound
Out of every thinkable and unthinkable corner came an eye
An absurd variety of cameras extended on bone like arms
Watching, being - Is it your mind or hers?
What evolutional design can justify preying upon a child’s suffering?
And there was nowhere left to run
And their where no more doors to her room
This scene being but one of many, each confined in a perfect princess tear
While she’s weeping paradoxical structures
Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa. |
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